THE  BRIDE  OF  LOVE; 


THE  TRUE  GREATNESS  OF  FEMALE  HEROISM, 


ETJTH    VEEN  ON 


"  Thousands  of  men  breathe,  move,  and  live,  pass  off  the  stage  of  life 
and  are  heard  of  no  more.  Live  for  something — do  good,  and  leave  behind 
you  a  monument  of  virtue !" — CHALMERS. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

DUANE  RULISON,  QUAKER  CITY  PUBLISHING  HOUSE, 

NO.  33   SOUTH   THIRD    STREET. 

1859. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1859,  by 
DUANE    RULISON, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  in  and  for 
the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


PREFACE. 


IT  may,  perchance,  have  frequently  presented  itself  to 
the  minds  of  reflecting  persons,  that  it  is  not  always  those 
things,  which  are  held  in  the  highest  estimation  in  the 
world,  that  are  really  the  most  valuable :  that  many  of 
those  men,  who  have,  by  their  actions,  rendered  them- 
selves conspicuous  on  the  great  stage  of  life,  have  not 
always  been  among  those  who  can  be  called  truly  great, 
when  comparing  their  deeds,  and  motives  of  action,  with 
that  standard  of  Divine  Truth,  which  has  been  given  as 
a  guide  to  men  by  an  all-wise  Lord. 

It  has  been  the  writer's  aim,  in  the  following  simple 
tale,  to  show  that  true  greatness  does  not  consist  only  in 
shining  deeds  of  prowess,  or  in  carrying  out  the  schemes 
of  a  lofty-ambition ;  but  that  it  may  be  exhibited  just  as 
truly  when  performing,  with  humility,  firmness  and  self- 
denial;  that  round  of  daily  duties,  those  "  little  things," 
which  may  alike  be  found  in  the  path  of  all.  That  this 
little  work  may  be  of  some  use,  in  leading  the  young  to 
form  a  correct  estimate  of  the  standard  of  heroism  and 
virtue,  which  they  should  aim  at  and  admire ;  that  it  may 
prevent  some  from  being  led  astray  by  the  world's  specious 
applause,  and  guide  them  to  the  Fountain  of  Truth,  is 
the  earnest  prayer  of  their  affectionate  friend, 

RUTH  VERNON. 


2063527 


\ 


CHAPTER   I. 

The  daily  Tound,  tho  common  task, 
Will  furnish  all  \ve  ought  to  ask  ; 
Room  to  deny  ourselves,  a  road 
To  bring  us  daily  nearer  God. — KEBLE. 

Her  soul,  like  the  transparent  air 

That  rotes  the  hills  above, 
Though  not  of  earth,  encircles  there 

All  things  with  arms  of  love. — LONGFELLOW. 

"  FATHER,"  exclaimed  Beatrice  Evelyn,  looking 
up  with  an  animated  countenance,  from  the  book 
she  was  reading,  "  what  an  extremely  false  notion 
most  people  have  of  greatness;  it  seems  to  me, 
that  so  many  of  the  persons  considered  in  the 
light  of  great  men  by  the  world,  have  been  very 
poor  heroes ;  just  forwarding  their  own  selfish  pur- 
poses, with  an  uncommon  disregard  of  the  legality 
of  tho  ways  and  means  they  employed.  Why,  I 
think  Henry  Martyn  was  a  much  greater  man  than 
Napoleon,  do  not  you,  dear  Papa  ?  it  seems  much 


12  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

more  noble  to  give  np  country  and  friends  and  aL 
comforts  and  luxuries,  for  a  missionary  life,  than  it 
is  to  squander  thousands  of  lives  for  personal  am 
bition." 

"  Why,  I  declare,  my  bonny  Bee,  you  are  turning 
philosopher,"  said  her  father,  smiling  fondly  at  her, 
"but  I  think  you  are  quite  right,  my  child;  yon 
know,  the  Bible  tells  us  that '  he  that  ruleth  his 
spirit  is  better  than  he  that  taketh  a  city,'  and  we 
should  never  take  such  a  false  estimate  of  life,  as  to 
think  that  what  makes  the  greatest  eclat  in  the  world 
is  the  most  useful:  a  man,  yes,  and  a  woman  too, 
may  be  truly  great  in  performing  the  simplest 
duties  of  life — still  some  are  undoubtedly  called  to 
more  public  exhibitions  of  greatness  of  character 
than  others.  Washington  was  a  great  man  because 
he  had  noble  and  true  motives  for  those  actions 
which  have  gained  him  such  renown,  and,  what  is 
more,  so  much  love  and  gratitude.  I  call  our  little 
friend,  Bessie  Hamilton,  great,  though  in  a  different 
way,  when  she  refused  the  offer  of  an  advantageous 
and  a  luxurious  home,  that  she  might  be  able  to 
nurse  her  sick  father  and  take  care  of  her  little 
motherless  brothers  and  sisters." 

"Yes,  Papa,"  said  Beatrice,  "and  I  think  it 
harder  to  bear  any  harassing  and  continuous  annoy- 
ances in  daily  life,  than  one  down-right  trouble,  do 
not  you  ?" 


TRIALS  REMOVED.  13 

"  "Well,  my  dear,  you  have  known  very  little  aa 
yet,  thank  God,  of  what  you  call  downright  trouble; 
but  I  think,  certainly,  that  a  person,  of  inferior 
character  of  mind,  might  bear  up  against  the  latter, 
who  would  be  quite  overcome  under  a  series  of 
small  worries  and  vexations." 

"  Papa,  thinking  of  what  is  good  and  beautiful 
seems  to  help  one  to  see  these  trials  in  their  right 
light ;  when  we  think  of  'them  only  as  permitted 
and  probationary — just  every  one  of  them  needed  to 
purify  us  for  a  higher  and  purer  existence — we  can 
give  them  their  proper  place  in  the  scale  of  im- 
portance." 

"  You  are  right,  my  darling,"  said  Mr.  Evelyn 
rising,  "  but  I  am  going  out  now  ;  it  is  tolerably 
cool,  the  sun  is  nearly  setting — so  I  will  stroll  down 
to  the  public  library  and  get  a  book  to  read,  for  I 
finished  mine  this  morning." 

"  Well  do,  Papa,  and  I  will  go  into  the  conserva- 
tory and  water  my  flowers,  they  will  need  refreshing 
after  this  hot  day." 

Her  father's  retreating  footsteps  were  heard  down 
the  staircase  and  through  the  hall,  and  Beatrice  ran 
lightly  across  the  room  into  the  conservatory  which 
adjoined  it.  Oh  the  flowers !  what  sweet,  gentle 
ministers  of  love  and  goodness  they  are ;  how  many 
sad  hearts  have  been  lightened — how  many  care- 


14  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

worn  faces  received  a  ray  of  sunshine  when  gazing 
on  their  soft  petals  and  inhaling  their  sweet  perfume  j 
and  in  a  city-life,  which  was  that  of  Beatrice  Evelyn, 
they  seem  doubly  welcome  and  dear,  when  the  hum 
and  bustle,  and  driving  and  jostling  of  the  world 
without,  press  so  palpably  on  the  senses  all  day 
long,  that  they  seem  yet  more  innocent  and  precious 
by  the  contrast.  Beatrice  tripped  lightly  among 
these,  her  treasures,  refreshing  their  leaves  from  a 
little  green  watering-can,  which  was  her  especial 
property,  and  ever  and  anon  confining  a  tendril 
which  was  straying  too  wantonly  from  its  parent 
stem,  or  removing  those  flowerets  which  had  parted 
with  their  beauty  and  freshness  to  successors  as 
lovely  as  they  had  been.  And  very  fair  and  pleas- 
ant she  looked  herself,  as  she  bent  down  among  the 
plants,  and  lovingly  pressed  her  lips  against  a  fresh 
mossrose-bud.  Beatrice  was  just  the  sort  of  girl 
calculated  to  win  love  from  those  around  her ;  she 
had  a  gentle  winning  softness  of  manner,  and  a  face 
that  one  loved  at  first  sight,  not  so  much  for  its 
striking  beauty  as  for  the  sweetness  of  its  expression. 
How  true  it  is,  "  The  light  of  the  body  is  the  eye," 
and  no  one,  that  looked  into  her  dark-gray  eyes, 
could  fail  to  discern  high-souled  intellect  and  depth 
of  thought.  Of  middle  height,  somewhat,  perhaps, 
above  the  average,  her  delicately  rounded  figure 


ME.  EVELYN'S  CHARACTER.  15 

showing  to  advantage,  in  a  simple  white  dress,  and 
her  rich  brown  hair  simply  braided,  she  stood  a 
flower  among  the  flowers. 

Beatrice  Evelyn  was  the  daughter  of  a  retired 
merchant  in  New  York ;  a  man  who  had  found 
time,  amidst  the  distractions  of  business,  to  give  a 
due  share  of  attention  to  the  duties  of  Christianity, 
to  literary  pursuits,  and  to  the  education  of  his 
family.  Although  feeling  that  even  in  business, 
what  we  do,  should  be  done  with  all  our  might,  and 
being,  in  consequence,  esteemed  among  his  brother 
merchants  as  a  man  of  punctual  habits  and  scrupu- 
lous accuracy  in  mercantile  affairs,  he  was  far  from 
wishing  to  make  money  for  money  itself;  what  he 
acquired  he  considered  as  a  talent  to  be  employed 
in  the  service  of  God,  whether  in  procuring  com- 
forts for  his  family,  or  in  promoting  His  cause  in  a 
more  direct  manner. 

Mr.  Evelyn  felt  that  to  acquire  means  to  lavish 
them  on  luxurious  equipages  and  fashionable  living, 
was  inconsistent  with  his  profession  as  a  Christian, 
and  was  productive,  beside,  of  no  real  happiness. 
He  strove  to  be  independent,  as  far  as  might  be,  of 
the  world's  opinion,  and  when  his  acquaintances 
said  to  each  other,  how  extraordinary  it  was  of 
Evelyn,  not  to  live  in  a  finer  house,  and  keep  up  a 
larger  establishment,  when  he  was  so  well  off,  they 
little  thought  how  much  happier  he  was  in  being 


16  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

free  from  the  trammels  of  fashion  ;  and  that  pos- 
sessing, as  he  did,  that  "  peace  which  passeth  under- 
standing,?' and  a  superiority  to  the  things  of  time — 
his  money  brought  him  far  more  real  satisfaction 
than  it  did  to  those  who  paraded  their  means  in 
"  the  world's  gay,  garish  show." 

Some  years  before  our  story  commences,  he  had 
retired  from  business,  shortly  after  the  death  of  a 
beloved  wife,  whose  lo^s  affected  him  deeply.  He 
sorrowed  not  as  those  that  have  no  hope,  for  he  felt 
that  they  had  both  been  bought  with  the  same  price 
and  were  fellow-heirs  of  a  blissful  eternity.  The 
loss,  however,  of  one  who  has  been  the  dearest 
companion  and  friend  for  so  many  years,  must 
always  be  a  severe  trial  to  a  man  of  deep  feeling ; 
and  Mr.  Evelyn,  having  now  a  sufficient  competen- 
cy, resolved  to  retire  from  business  and  devote  him- 
self henceforward  to  the  care  of  the  two  motherless 
little  girls  his  Mary  had  left  him,  while  his  duties 
as  a  Christian  and  a  citizen  were  never  neglected. 
He  had  some  time  before,  joined  one  of  the  Presby- 
terian Churches  in  the  city,  and  was  both  a  member 
and  an  elder.  The  number  of  his  deeds  of  charity 
are  known  only  to  Him  for  whose  sake  they  were 
done — a  Christian  does  not  his  alms  to  be  seen  of 
men.  Of  his  two  children,  Beatrice  was  the  eldest — 
Henrietta,  the  youngest,  was  still  at  school,  a  shore 
distance  from  the.  city.  Beatrice  was  always  a 


MBS.  GRANT.  17 

thoughtful,  meditative  child,  yet  full  of  feeling  and 
energy ;  while  Hetty  was  a  wild,  impulsive  creature, 
small  and  dark-eyed,  and  in  complexion  like  a 
daughter  of  Italy.  Though  somewhat  deficient  in 
caution  and  prudence,  she  was  such  a  warm-hearted, 
affectionate  girl,  that  her  friends  were  always  ready 
to  forgive  the  errors  she  so  quickly  repented  of,  and 
BO  freely  confessed.  She  certainly  wanted  stability 
of  character,  though  her  high  spirits  made  her  the 
life  of  the  house  whenever  she  was  at  home  for  the 
holidays,  and  often  Beatrice  and  Mr.  Evelyn  would 
drive  out  on  a  Saturday  afternoon  and  bring  the 
merry  and  delighted  girl  to. spend  the  Sabbath  with 
them  all  at  home.  Hetty  looked  up  to  Beatrice 
almost  as  to  a  mother,  for  she  suffered  her  mobile 
and  impulsive  nature  to  submit  itself  to  her  sister's 
guidance  ;  and,,  beside,  Beatrice  had  arrived  at  the 
dignified  age  of  twenty,  while  Hetty  was  but  four- 
teen. About  a  year  before  this  time  their  family 
circle  had  received  a  not  very  pleasant  addition,  in 
the  shape  of  a  widowed  sister  of  Mr.  Evelyn's,  who 
had,  by  the  death  of  her  husband,  been  very  greatly 
reduced  in  her  circumstances,  and  to  whom  her 
brother,  in  the  kindness  of  his  heart,  offered  a  home. 
It  certainly  required  some  self-denial  to  do  this, 
for  Mrs.  Grant  was  not  at  all  a  pleasant  or  genial 
person.  She  was  as  unlike  her  brother  as  possible ; 


18  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

she  seemed  to  bring  no  sunshine  with  her,  and 
though  she  was  really  a  well-informed  woman,  she 
was  so  strongly  prejudiced,  and  of  so  obstinate  and 
quarrelsome  a  disposition,  that  to  live  with  her 
peaceably  was  a  hard  trial.  She  seemed  as  if  she 
had  stifled  in  her  bosom  all  the  gentler  and  softer 
feelings  of  nature,  and  generally  managed  to  take  a 
twisted  or  crooked  view  of  any  matter  that  was  the 
subject  of  conversation — and  yet  her  friends  could 
make  some  allowance  for  all  this :  her  wedded  life 
had  been  an  unhappy  one :  she  had  married,  late  in 
life,  a  man  who,  under  protestations  of  aflection, 
had  married  her  for  the  little  money  she  possessed, 
and  then  treated  her  with  cool  neglect.  Her  heart 
had  never  been  warmed  by  the  confidence  of  mutual 
love ;  and  while  she  was  moping  out  a  vague,  pur- 
poseless existence  in  a  retired  house  in  one  of  the 
Southern  States,  her  temper  and  disposition  became 
soured.  It  was  one  of  our  friend  Beatrice's  crosses 
to  bear  with  all  her  aunt's  vagaries,  and  to  bear 
them  in  a  Christian  manner,  thinking  of  her 
charitably,  and  trying  to  win  her  over  by  gentleness 
and  dutiful  attentions. 

But  we  left  Beatrice  among  her  flowers,  which, 
having  duly  been  watered  and  admired,  she  threw 
herself  on  a  low  couch,  to  refresh  herself  for  awhile 
with  the  sweet  dreamings  of  Henry  Longfellow : 


ME.  CmciiESTER.  19 

"  Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us, 

We  must  make  our  lives  sublime, 
And,  departing,  leave  behind  us 

Footprints  in  the  sands  of  time." 

Oh !  thought  Beatrice,  does  not  that  just  express 
what  I  was  saying,  this  afternoon,  to  dear  Papa  ? 
4  we  can  make  our  lives  sublime.'  How  I  wish  that 
I  could  live  to  some  purpose — that  I  might  be  able 
to  do  something  to  help  and  comfort  some  one — I 
feel  as  if  I  could  give  my  life's  energies  to  help  the 
friendless  and  weak — to  do  something  for  God. 

The  time  will  come,  it  will  surely  come,  Beatrice, 
if  you  patiently  wait ;  by  always  picking  up  the 
grains  that  are  scattered  around  us,  we  may  gather 
a  good  harvest  ere  our  journey  be  ended. 

"  Beatrice !  come  here,  child,"  cried  a  shrill  voice 
at  the  drawing-room  door,."  I  want  yon  in  the  store- 
room to  arrange  the  dessert  for  dinner ;  you  know 
your  father  has  asked  Mr.  Ohichester  to  dine  with 
us,  and  don't,  pray,  lie  dreaming  there ;  I  call  it  real 
waste  of  time !  you  might  have  been  sorting  those 
wools  for  me,  or  doing  a  hundred  other  things." 

"  I  will  come  directly,  aunt,"  said  Beatrice, 
gently,  "I  was  only  reading — and  I  will  arrange  a 
few  flowers  in  the  vases  at  the  same  time." 

It  seems  rather  hard,  thought  she,  to  leave  off 
just  in  the  middle  of  my  comfortable  reading,  but 
it  is  in  these  little  things  that  we  must  '  conquer  our 


20  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

spirits' — and  Mr.  Chichester,  too  —  I  wish  Papa 
would  not  ask  him  here  so  often ;  perhaps  being  the 
son  of  his  late  partner,  he  does  it  out  of  kindness. 
Well,  it  is  like  him,  dear,  good  man  that  he  is;  but 
Mr.  Chichester  is  still  too  attentive  for  it  to  be 
pleasant  to  meet  him,  and  I  feel  I  could  never,  never 
like  him. 

Her  aunt  had  gone  down  stairs  again,  and  as 
Beatrice  followed  her,  the  above  thoughts  passed 
through  her  mind  till  she  was  aroused  from  her 
reverie  by  hearing  Mrs.  Grant  again  exclaim: 

"  Come  now,  Beatrice,  do  be  quick  and  arrange 
these  dishes  properly,  and  then  you  had  better  go 
and  dress :  your  father  will  not  like  it  if  you  are  late 
for  dinner,  and,  beside,  you  know  your  lover,  Mr. 
Chichester,  is  to  be  here." 

"He  is  no  lover  of  mine,  aunt,  and  never  will 
be,"  returned  Beatrice,  "  I  like  him  tolerably  well 
as  a  friend,  and  I  think  he  is  intellectual  and  gentle- 
manly, but  as  anything  dearer  than  a  friend  I  could 
never  think  of  him  for  a  moment." 

"Just  to  hear  you  now,  child !  why  what  more 
would  you  have;  you  yourself  admit  that  he  is 
gentlemanly  and  intellectual — and  he  has  lively 
manners  and  is  good-looking  too,  as  far  as  I  am  any 
judge  of  such  things." 

"This  is  all  very  true,  aunt,"  said  Beatrice, 
quietly  arranging  a  dish  of  peaches,  "  but  he  does 


A  CHRISTIAN  HUSBAND.  21 

not  satisfy  me;  he  seems  to  have  no  principle  for 
his  actions  ;  he  talks  as  if  he  did  things  because  the 
world  thought  it  right  or  proper,  or  because  it  ac- 
corded with  his  notions  of  gentlemanly  propriety, 
or  else  because  it  gained  him  the  admiration  of 
friends — not  because  it  was  his  duty  as  a  Christian. 
I  feel  he  could  not  be  depended  upon,  under  all  cir- 
cumstances ;  I  should  not  feel  sure  of  him  if  worldly 
affairs  went  wrong  or  if  he  were  placed  in  a  situa- 
tion where  his  duty  was  opposed  to  his  interests." 

"Dear  me,  child,  who  put  all  this  rigmarole  of 
nonsense  into  your  head  ?  where  do  you  think  you 
would  ever  find  a  husband  who  would  be  such  a 
pink  of  propriety  and  goodness  as  all  that  ?  But 
you  are  always  sticking  up  for  something  out  of  the 
way;  I  suppose  you  think  yourself  better  than  any 
one  else,  and  nothing  but  a  pattern  minister  would 
suit  you  1" 

"  Indeed,  aunt,  your  are  mistaken  ;  I  do  not  think 
it  at  all  essential  that  a  man  should  be  a  minister  in 
order  to  be  a  Christian,  but  I  do  know  that  I  never 
will  marry  any  one  whom  I  do  not  believe  to  be  a 
child  of  God :  believe  me,  Aunt  Louisa,  I  do  not  say 
this  from  any  feeling  of  pride,  or  from  wishing  to 
think  too  highly  of  myself,  but  I  do  think  that 
Christians  should  be  more  mindful  than  they  often 
are,  of  the  injunction  of  Paul,  not  to  be  '  unequally 


22  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

yoked  together  with  unbelievers.'  I  am  sure  that 
those  who  do  so  suffer  their  earthly  affections  to 
overcome  their  sense  of  love  to  Christ — must  suffer 
many,  many  miseries  and  trials  from  opposition  of 
opinion,  and  want  of  mutual  sympathy  in  the  best 
and  highest  things." 

"  Well,  I  am  sure,  I  only  hope  you  may  find  a 
husband  to  your  taste,"  said  Mrs.  Grant  as  she 
turned  to  leave  the  store-room.  "  But  I  know  more 
of  the  world  than  yourself,  and  what  most  men  are, 
and  I  think  you  will  run  a  great  chance  of  being  an 
old  maid,  if  you  are  so  particular." 

""Well,  Aunt,  I  am  not  such  a  disbeliever  in  good- 
ness as  all  that:  I  do  know  enough  of  the  world, 
to  know  that  there  are  few  men  who  exactly  come 
up  to  the  standard  of  what  I  could  admire  and  love — • 
but  still,  I  believe,  there  are  many  who  are  earnest 
followers  of  God,  even  in  their  youth  —  I  do  not 
believe  in  the  principle  of  marrying  a  man  in  the 
hope  of  converting  him;  that  is  often  a  mere 
temptation  of  our  own  evil  hearts,  and  but  too  often 
brings  the  fruits  of  bitter  repentance  with  it  after- 
ward." 

"  Well,  now  let  us  come  and  dress  for  dinner," 
said  Mrs.  Grant,  "I  suppose  you  mean  well,  but 
you  have  uncommonly  queer  notions;  however, 
1  suppose  your  father  encourages  you  in  them.  I 


A  CHKISTIAN  HUSBAND.  23 

think  he  is  nearly  as  crazy  as  yourself,  on  some 
points." 

"  Oh,  Aunt!"  said  Beatrice,  as  she  slowly  followed 
Mrs.  Grant  up  stairs,  "  I  am  sure,  dear  Papa  only 
wishes  me  to  think  what  is  good  and  right  —  I  wish 
I  were  like  him  1" 


CHAPTER  II. 

Who  in  life's  battle  firm  doth  stand, 
Shall  hear  Hope's  tender  blossoms 

Into  the  Silent  Land. — LONGFELLOW 

BEATRICE  had  scarcely  finished  dressing  when  she 
heard  her  father's  and  Mr.  Chichester's  voices  in 
the  hall,  and  in  a  few  minntes  afterward  the  dinner- 
bell  rang.  As  she  was  going  down  stairs,  she  met 
her  father  just  coming  out  of  his  room,  standing  on 
a  little  landing  between  the  two  flights  of  steps. 

"  Well,  my  bonny  Bee,"  said  he,  fondly  kissing 
her,  "  what  is  my  little  philosopher  looking  so  grave 
about  1  eh!  Tell  me,  my  child,  isn't  everything 
going  smoothly  this  evening  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear  Papa,  tolerably  so.  I  had  only  been 
thinking  of  something  Aunt  Louisa  and  I  were  talk- 
ing about  a  little  time  ago.  Papa,"  said  she,  paus- 
ing, "  you  will  never  make  me  do  anything  contrary 
to  what  I  wish — I  mean  contrary  to  what  I  think 
right — will  you  2" 

"No,  my  dear,  certainly  not— but  what  do  you 
mean?" 

(24) 


DINNER.  25 

"  O !  never  mind,  Papa,"  said  Beatrice  smiling, 
"now  I  have  your  promise;"  and  she  ran  quickly 
down  before  him  till  she  reached  the  hall. 

"  I  say,  you  foolish  Bee,  to  take  flight  in  that 
way,"  said  Mr.  Evelyn  as  he  went  down  stairs, 
"  come  back  you  little  silly  thing  and  speak  to  me 
directly."  His  daughter  came  back  rather  reluct- 
antly, and  as  he  looked  into  her  face,  he  said,  "  you 
weren't  thinking  anything  about  Mr.  Chichester, 
were  you,  Bee  ?  Bless  you,  child,  I  am  not  such  a 
foolish  man  as  to  wish  any  child  of  mine  to  marry 
against  her  inclinations;  and  I  told  Chichester  as 
much,  this  afternoon,  as  we  came  along  ;  that  after 
what  you  said  to  him  the  other  day,  he  might  con- 
sider the  matter  settled ;  although  we  should  be 
happy  to  receive  him  as  a  friend  for  '  auld  acquaint- 
ance' sake." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,  dear  Papa;  how  shall  I 
ever  repay  you  for  all  your  kind  indulgence  to 
me?" 

"  Indeed,  dear  one,  you  are  such  a  treasure  to  me, 
that  I  do  not  know  any  man,  now,  to  whom  I  should 
be  willing  to  give  my  bonny  Bee,  so  I  must  clip  her 
wings,  if  she  wants  to  fly." 

"  Indeed,  dear  Papa,  there  is  no  danger,  I  assure 
you,"  said  Beatrice  laughing,  "  but  let  us  make 
haste  to  the  drawing-room — I  see  Socrates  coming  to 
announce  dinner." 


86  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

Eespecting  the  incidents  of  dinner-time,  we  shal. 
remark  little,  except  that  Mr.  Chichester's  conversa- 
tion was  unusually  agreeable  and  lively ;  he  seemed 
to  think  too  well  of  himself  to  be  willing  to  believe 
that  Beatrice  was  indifferent  toward  him,  and 
hoping  still  to  ingratiate  himself  with  her,  he 
directed  all  his  most  lively  sallies  in  that  quarter; 
while  poor  Beatrice  experienced  somewhat  of  that 
awkwardness  of  feeling,  natural  to  a  young  woman, 
who  is  still  associating  with  a  man  who  has  sought 
her  hand,  and  been  refused. 

She  was  not  destined,  however,  to  have  to  bear 
with  his  company  and  attentions  all  the  evening,  for 
just  after  dessert  was  placed  on  the  table,  Socrates, 
their  old  colored  servant,  softly  opened  the  door  and 
said  that  there  was  a  poor  woman  in  the  kitchen 
who  wanted  to  speak  with  Missy  Evelyn. 

"  Who  is  it,  Socrates,"  said  Mr.  Evelyn ;  "  go  and 
eee  what  she  wants,  and  come  and  tell  us." 

"  Indeed,  Missy,"  said  Socrates,  when  he  returned, 
'  it  seems  quite  a  referential  subject-like,  as  she 
wants  to  tell  you.  She  will  not  'municate  anything, 
BO,  perhaps,  you  would  do  yourself  the  favor  to  step 
out  and  see  her  ?" 

Smiling  at  Socrates'  eloquence,  Beatrice  rose, 
Apologizing  for  leaving  the  table,  and  saying  she 
would  return  as  soon  as  she  had  seen  what  the  poor 
wanted. 


BIDDY  KTAN.  27 

On  entering  the  kitchen  Beatrice  saw  a  woman 
standing  by  the  fire,  whose  appearance  denoted  con- 
siderable poverty,  and  whose  care-worn  countenance 
plainly  told  that  she  had  seen  more  than  the  little 
ills  of  life. 

"Ah  !  Biddy,  is  that  you  ?  Why  I  have  not  seen 
you  for  a  long  time ;  why  have  you  never  been  to  see 
me  before  2"  said  Beatrice,  after  returning  the  poor 
Irishwoman's  salutation. 

"  And  sure,  Miss,  it 's  yourself  vas  good  to  us  in 
the  faver  we  had,  but  since  my  ould  man 's  took  to 
the  say-faring  life,  it's  meself  that's  intirely  took 
up  with  minding  the  childers  at  home  and  workin' 
for  them  night  an'  day,  and  I  would  not  be  beggin', 
my  swate  lady,  vhile  I  can  work.  But  it's  not  for 
meself  I  'm  come  to  ye  this  time.  First,  Miss,  I  '11 
tell  ye  that  my  Pat's  come  home  from  the  "West 
Injies:  his  ship  came  into  harbor  yesterday  fore- 
noon, an'  faith  he's  at  home  now  this  blessed  minnit, 
an'  glad  enough  ve  be  to  see  him.  And  it's  by  the 
marcy  of  God  I  ever  did  see  my  ould  man's  face 
ag'in,  for  when  the  vessel  was  off  the  coast  of  Flo- 
rida, some  vicked  wretches  there  on  the  shore,  my 
lady,  put  out  a  false  light  to  decoy  the  poor  sailors 
and  make  'em  think  it  was  a  lighthouse,  that  they 
might  be  wrecked,  and  then  the  varmints  could  steal 
wbativer  they  could  lay  hands  on.  "Well !  to  make 
my  story  short,  the  poor  ship  struck  on  the  rocks, 


28  GKEATJNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

sure  enough,  and  many  of  the  people  in  her  were 
dhrowned  and  among  'ein  a  fine  French  merchant 

who  was  com  in'  from  the  island  of  St St , 

some  o'  the  blessed  saints,  Miss — " 

"St.  Thomas,  perhaps,  Biddy,"  said  Beatrice, 
smiling. 

"  Sure  enough,  Miss,  an'  that 's  the  very  word ; 
but  as  I  was  going  to  say,  this  'ere  poor  jintleman 
had  with  him  a  little  slip  of  a  daughter,  about  ten 
years  old,  that  he  was  bringin'  with  him  to  New 
York,  and  the  poor  little  thing  was  just  cast  ashore, 
half  dhrowned.  My  Pat,  for  pity's  sake,  took  care 
of  her.  Well !  Miss,  somehow  or  other,  they  all 
traveled  to  some  place  where  another  ship  was 
found,  which  brought  them  all  safe  home,  (glory  be 
to  God  !)  and  here 's  my  Pat  brought  this  poor  little 
foreigner  home,  and  she 's  now  lying  in  our  house 
on  a  little  bed  of  my  Bessie's,  and  niver  a  word  of 
her  lingo  can  we  understand ;  it 's  a  vender  so  rich 
a  man  didn't  have  his  child  taught  some  dacent 
tongue  —  scace  one  blessed  word  she  says  that  ve 
can  make  out  the  maning  of !" 

"Well!  I  suppose  you  want  me  to  come  and  see 
her,  Biddy  2"  said  Beatrice,  "  perhaps  I  can  make 
something  out  of  the  poor  child,  and  she  must  be  a 
charge  to  you." 

"O!  niver  spake  o'  that  Miss,  tho'  i'  faith  I  should 
be  glad  intirely  to  know  what  to  do  with  the  little 


REFLECTIONS.  29 

one.  She  is  just  crying  fit  to  break  her  heart  all 
the  time,  calling  for  her  Papa,  and  he  lying  cold 
and  dead  beneath  the  salt  say  (God  rest  his  soul  in 
peace!)  So  if  you  could  kindly  coine  back  with  me, 
mistress,  darlint,  I  would  thank  you  kindly." 

u  Well!  Biddy,  I  must  go  in  and  ask  Papa,  I  am 
afraid  it  is  almost  too  late  to  go  as  far  as  Hawthorn 
street  to-night,  but  I  will  come  early  in  the  morning 
if  I  cannot  come  now.  But  tell  me,  Biddy,  what 
your  husband's  surname  is,  in  case  we  should  not 
find  your  house  easily;  it  is  getting  late  and  you  had 
better  not  wait,  your  children  will  be  wanting  you." 

"  Sure,  mistress,  an'  all  the  world  knows  Pat 
Ryan,  an'  a  dashin'  fine  man  he  is  too,"  said  Biddy, 
her  face  lighting  up  with  honest  affection.  "It's 
No.  13,  Miss,  our  house  is  ;  it 's  but  a  poor  place  to 
ask  the  like  o'  you  to  come  to.  Good-night,  Miss." 

There  is  as  much  warm-hearted  kindness  and 
self-denying  usefulness  in  Pat's  home  of  poverty,  as 
there  is  in  many  rich  houses,  and  far  more  happi- 
ness, too,  thought  Beatrice,  as  she  re-crossed  the  hall 
and  opened  the  door  of  the  dining-room,  where  they 
were  still  sitting  at  table,  awaiting  her  re-appear- 
ance. 

"Well!  my  child,  what  has  detained  you  so 
long,"  said  Mr.  Evelyn ;  "  I  was  beginning  to  fear 
the  beggar-woman  was  some  fairy  and  had  be- 
witched you  away." 


30  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"  Indeed,  Papa,  she  was  no  fairy,  but  poor  Biddy 
Ryan,  whom  you  may  remember  having  relieved 
several  times  last  winter,  when  her  family  were  sick 
with  fever ;"  and  sitting  down,  Beatrice,  in  a  few 
words,  recounted  the  substance  of  the  poor  woman's 
narration. 

"  Well !  Miss  Evelyn,"  said  Mr.  Chichester,  when 
she  had  concluded,  "  I  do  not  see  why,  because  that 
sailor  is  foolish  enough  to  burden  himself  with  that 
little  French  child,  you  should  plague  yourself  about 
her.  Do  give  us  some  music  this  evening,  and 
pray  do  not  think  of  running  away." 

"I  am  sure,"  returned  Beatrice,  "that  poor  Biddy 
would  not  have  come  for  me  this  evening,  had  she 
not  wanted  my  assistance  and  thought  that  the  poor 
child  would  be  comforted  by  my  going." 

"  Oh !  the  poor  are  always  so  inconsiderate," 
said  Mr.  Chichester,  "coming  at  such  a  time  of  the 
evening  as  this,  just  when  we  were  beginning  to 
enjoy  ourselves." 

"  I  do  not  think  we  have  any  right  to  think  about 
enjoying  ourselves,  when  we  hear  of  a  fellow-creature 
in  distress,"  returned  Beatrice  ;  "  I  am  sure  I  should 
feel  much  happier,  too,  if  Papa  would  allow  me  to 
go  to-night.  I  can  take  Jane  with  me,  and  Socrates 
can  follow  us." 

"I  will  go  with  you  myself,  my  child,"  returned 
her  father,  "  that  is,  if  Mr.  Chichester  will  excuse 


BENEVOLENT  YISIT.  31 

us  for  a  few  minutes ;  the  moon  is  up  and  the  even- 
ing air  is  delightfully  cool  and  pleasant ;  the  dis- 
tance is  quite  short,  too." 

"  O  !  pray,  do  not  let  me  detain  you,  Mr.  Evelyn," 
said  the  young  man,  rising;  "I  should  be  exceed- 
ingly sorry  to  interfere  with  so  philanthropic  an 
errand — "  and  his  tone  was  slightly  piqued  as  he 
spoke,  for  he  did  not  like  to  perceive  that  Beatrice 
so  readily  sacrificed  his  company. 

"  My  aunt  will  entertain  you  till  we  come  back, 
Mr.  Chichester,"  said  Beatrice,  "  and  you  will  find 
the  latest  numbers  of  the  European  magazines  lying 
on  the  table  in  the  drawing-room,  if  you  choose  to 
look  them  over." 

Mr.  Chichester  bowed. 

"  "Well !  Beatrice,  I  suppose  you  will  be  bringing 
some  horrid  disease  or  other  home  with  you,"  said 
her  aunt ;  "  do,  pray,  put  a  piece  of  camphor  in  your 
mouth,  and  avoid  touching  those  little  dirty  Irish 
brats  as  much  as  possible.  I  can 't  think  how  peo- 
ple of  refinement  can  bear  to  go  into  such  places  — • 
for  my  part,  I  never  could  !" 

"  O  !  Aunt,"  said  Beatrice,  her  color  rising  as  she 
spoke,  "  how  can  you  say  so  ?  Why  did  not  our 
Saviour  give  us  a  special  charge  to  remember  and 
take  care  of  the  poor  for  His  sake  ?  Surely,  we  who 
have  received  so  many  of  the  good  things  of  this 
life,  should  be  willing  to  help  those  who  have  so 


32  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

few;  and  beside,  poor  Biddy's  place,  though  cer- 
tainly not  furnished  in  the  handsomest  manner,  ia 
always  clean  and  neat ;  so  clean,  that  even  you  would 
not  be  afraid  to  enter  it." 

"  Well !  my  dear,  my  vocation  does  not  lie  that 
way.  I  find  enough  to  do  to  attend  to  myself  and 
my  own  concerns,  without  meddling  with  those  of 
other  people.  But  come,  Mr.  Chich  ester,  let  us 
adjourn  to  the  drawing-room  and  await  the  return 
of  these  truants." 

As  Beatrice  turned  to  leave  the  room,  she  sighed 
as  she  thought  that  her  aunt  knew  nothing  of  the  true 
happiness  of  ministering  to  the  wants  of  others,  and 
coming  out  of  the  little  narrow  circle  of  one's  own 
selfish  cares  and  feelings,  and  participating  in  the 
throbs  which  agitate  the  pulses  of  the  great  world 
without. 

The  walk  to  Hawthorn  street  seemed  but  too 
short;  the  streets  Mr.  Evelyn  and  his  daughter  had 
to  traverse  lay  calm  in  the  quiet  moonlight,  and 
the  few  passers-by  seemed  like  ghostly  visitants  to  a 
world  asleep ;  the  part  of  the  city  they  lived  in  was 
quite  in  the  suburbs,  and  many  of  the  houses  had 
pleasant  gardens  before  and  around  them,  where  the 
flowers  were  now  shedding  forth  their  sweet  odors, 
as  if  rejoicing  in  the  stillness  and  the  dewy  moon- 
light. Branching  off  from  these  streets  was  a  stiff- 
looking  row  of  tail  brick  houses,  each  of  which  was 


THE  FRENCH  CHILD.  33 

tenanted  by  several  families,  and  in  a  couple  of  rooms 
in  one  of  these,  lived  Biddy  Ryan  and  her  six 
children.  Softly  ascending  a  narrow  staircase,  Mr. 
Evelyn  tapped  at  the  door,  and  it  was  opened  with 
a  smile  of  grateful  recognition  by  Biddy  herself,  who 
had  her  youngest  hope  in  her  arms — "  Sure  an'  it's 
mighty  good  of  ye,  sir,  to  be  bringing  the  young 
lady  here  to-night,"  said  she,  "but  come  in,  ye 
must  excuse  the  place  looking  as  it  does,  but  it 's 
but  a  small  place  for  eight  of  us.  Pat  an'  the  six 
childer  an'  meself,  beside  the  little  foreigner  lady," 
and  she  pointed  to  a  little  bed  in  the  corner,  where, 
apart  from  the  other  children,  lay  a  delicate-looking 
little  girl,  who.  was  staring  in  much  astonishment  at 
the  strangers.  In  a  bed  made  on  the  floor  lay,  fast 
asleep,  four  rosy  little  Paddies,  the  very  pictures  of 
health,  while  the  eldest  boy  stood  by  his  father's 
side,  near  a  small  table,  apparently  having  been 
engaged  in  showing  off  the  progress  he  had  made  in 
learning  during  his  father's  absence.  The  sailor 
rose  and  bowed,  and  placed  a. chair  for  Mr.  Evelyn, 
who  entered  into  conversation  with  him,  while  Bea- 
trice approached  the  little  French  child's  bed  and 
addressed  to  her  a  few  words  of  kindness  in  her 
native  tongue : — 

"  Est-ceque  vous  parlez  vraiment  ma  langue, 
Mademoiselle.  Ah !  que  j'en  suis  bien-aise,"  said 
the  little  one,  her  dark  eyes  brightening. 


34  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"Yes,"  replied  Beatrice,  in  French,  "but  now  you 
must  tell  me  all  you  want,  and  you  must  not  cry 
any  more,  but  be  a  good  child  and  1  will  try  and 
make  you  happy." 

"  Mais  mon  pauvre  Papa,  ou  est-il  done  ?  il  n;y  a 
personne  ici  que  je  connais,  et  je  suis  si  miserable, 
ah  !  oni,  si,  si  miserable !" 

"  Your  Papa  can  never  come  back  to  you  any 
more,  my  child,"  said  Beatrice  gently,  "God  has 
taken  him  home  to  another  world :  but  have  you  no 
other  friends?  try  and  remember  all  you  can  and 
tell  me,  and  then,  perhaps,  we  may  be  able  to  send 
you  back  to  them  some  day." 

The  little  girl  then  explained  to  Beatrice,  in  sim- 
ple language,  that  her  name  was  Blanche  de  Tre- 
monille ;  that  her  father  had  left  '  la  belle  France' 
about  six  months  before  and  had  come  out  with  her 
to  reside  at  the  house  of  a  brother,  who  was  a  mer 
chant  at  St.  Thomas,  with  whom  he  had  entered 
into  partnership,  and  he  was  going  to  New  York 
about  some  business  matters  when  the  fatal  accident 
occurred.  She  said  that  her  mother  had  died  before 
they  left  France;  but  that  her  aunt,  in  the  West 
Indies,  was  very  kind  to  her  and  gave  her  many, 
many  pretty  things,  and  that  she  had  a  colored  nurse 
named  Jeannette,  to  wait  upon  her,  who  could  speak 
French. 

"Mais,  Mademoiselle,  ces  personnes  ici  sont  si 


35 

barbares !  ah !  si  barbares !  et  il  fait  tant  f Void  dans 
cette  maison !  ah !  quo  ferai-je  done  ?"  and  she  burst 
into  a  passion  of  tears. 

"  Blanche,  Blanche,  you  must  not  cry  so,  that  is 
naughty,"  said  Beatrice,  "  these  poor  people  have 
been  very  kind  to  you,  and  taken  care  of  you  when 
you  would  have  been  drowned,  or,  perhaps,  perished 
for  want  of  food.  Do  you  think,  if  I  took  you 
home  with  me,  you  would  be  a  good  child  ?  You 
see  I  can  speak  your  language  and  so  can  that  gen- 
tleman, too,"  said  she,  pointing  to  Mr.  Evelyn, 
"  and  we  will  take  care  of  you  till  we  can  send  you 
to  your  aunt — but  you  must  not  fret  and  be  discon- 
tented." 

"  Ah !  Mademoiselle,  je  ne  pleurai  pas  ;  je  serai 
tout-a-fait  heureuse  avec  vous." 

After  obtaining  her  father's  permission  and  having 
a  few  words  of  consultation  with  Pat  and  his  wife, 
Beatrice  arranged  that  the  phaeton  should  come  for 
little  Blanche  the  following  morning,  as  it  was  evi- 
dent that  the  poor  child  would  never  feel  at  home 
where  she  was.  So  it  was  settled ;  and  after  com- 
forting Blanche  with  a  promise  of  sending,  or  per- 
haps, coming  for  her  herself  early  in  the  morning, 
Beatrice  followed  her  father  down  the  staircase,  and 
they  went  rapidly  home. 

We  need  not  enlarge  on  Mrs.  Grant's  exclama- 
tions of  surprise  and  astonishment,  when  she  heard 


36  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

that  the  little  French  child  was  to  become  an  in 
mate  of  her  brother's  house — of  course,  she  thought 
it  madness  and  folly,  and  a  plague  and  an  unheard- 
of  thing,  but  finding  Mr.  Evelyn  firm  on  the  sub- 
ject, and,  in  fact,  making  very  light  of  the  matter 
altogether,  she  contented  herself  at  last,  with  saying, 
that  she  washed  her  hands  of  it — and  would  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  child  —  she  would  not  be 
plagued  with  her  all  day — that  Beatrice  had  brought 
it  upon  herself— and  as  she  brewed,  so  she  must 
bake. 

"  "Well,  Aunt,  I  do  not  fancy  it  will  be  any  great 
charge,"  said  Beatrice ;  "  she  is  evidently  a  gentle- 
man's child,  and  will  know  how  to  behave — and  she 
will  be  quite  an  amusement  to  me,  now  Hetty  is  at 
Bchool." 

Mr.  Chichester  had  been  sitting  on  one  of  the 
lounges,  reading,  when  Beatrice  and  her  father 
entered,  and  now  finding  that  the  little  girl's  destina- 
tion seemed  disposed  of,  he  begged  Beatrice  to  give 
them  some  music. 

"  Yes  do,  my  darling,"  said  her  father,  who  was 
refreshing  himself  with  a  cup  of  coffee  after  his 
walk,  "  give  us  some  of  my  old  favorites,  '  the  Last 
rose  of  Summer,'  or  some  airs  from  Nonna." 

"Hem!  if  Hetty  were  at  home,  we  might  run  the 
chance  of  getting  some  good  music,"  said  Mrs. 
Grant;  "  I  do  not  like  Beatrice's  style — it  is  too  slow 


THE  CONTROVERSY.  37 

and  sentimental  —  I  like  a  good  rattling,  dashing 
piece,  for  my  part." 

Beatrice  wisely  forbore  making  any  reply,  and 
her  father  smiled  fondly  at  her  as  she  seated  herself 
at  the  piano,  which  Mr.  Chichester  had  already 
opened.  She  felt  ruffled  for  a  moment,  but  an 
earnest  inward  petition  made  her  feel  all  right  again, 
and  the  thought  rose  in  her  mind,  why  should  I 
feel  annoyed  if  my  music  pleases  dear  Papa? 
Beatrice  sang  her  father's  favorite  song,  and  several 
others,  before  she  finished — and  a  sweet  voice  she 
had,  soft  and  melodious — touching  the  feelings  and 
gratifying  the  taste :  it  was  the  kind  of  music  which 
seems  to  do  one's  heart  good.  She  had  just  finished 
Miss  Davis's  beautiful  song  of  '  Ruth,'  and  had 
risen  from  the  piano,  and  sat  down  near  her  father, 
when  Mr.  Chichester  said : 

"  Do  you  ever  attend  any  of  the  Catholic  churches 
in  the  city,  on  Sundays,  Miss  Evelyn  ?  I  often  go 
there  because  of  the  beautiful  music." 

"  No,  I  never  do,"  said  Beatrice,  "  and  I  own,  I 
should  be  sorry  to  spend  my  Sabbaths  in  going  to  a 
church  where  I  knew  that  doctrines  contrary  to  my 
belief  would  be  preached.  I  am  exceedingly  fond 
of  good  music ;  but  I  think  Sunday  should  be  spent 
in  serving  God;  and  I  should  not  imagine  that 
attending  a  Roman  Catholic  church  would  conduce 
to  devotional  feelings." 


38  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"  "Well,  now,  do  you  know,"  replied  Mr.  Chiches- 
ter,  "  I  sometimes  feel  quite  solemnized,  when  I 
hear  the  sound  of  the  organ  rolling  and  echoing 
through  the  magnificent  arches  of  the  Cathedral; 
and  the  whole  service  is  conducted  in  a  very  impres- 
sive manner,  and  one  well  calculated  to  influence 
the  senses,  and  by  that  means,  I  suppose,  to  raise 
the  heart  to  heaven." 

"  More  likely  to  chain  it  down  to  earth,  Chiches- 
ter,"  said  Mr.  Evelyn ;  "  I  should  think  that  amidst 
all  that  paraphernalia  of  robes  and  vestments,  and 
all  those  bowings  and  genuflexions,  people  were  very 
apt  to  lose  sight  of  the  God  who  is  to  be  worshiped  in 
Spirit  and  in  Truth.  I  would  not  attend  a  Roman 
Catholic  or  a  Unitarian  church,  for  the  same  reason 
that  I  do  not  attend  the  theater — because,  I  believe 
that  I  should  hear  error  taught  there,  and  that  it 
would  be  inconsistent  both  with  my  opinions  and 
my  feelings  to  be  present." 

"Well,  I  think  there  are  many  excellent  persons 
who  are  Roman  Catholics,"  said  Mrs.  Grant ;  "  I 
have  read,  myself,  of  several  whose  lives  were  cer- 
tainly most  exemplary." 

"I  grant  that,  Louisa,"  said  her  brother;  "I 
believe  there  have  been  hundreds  of  pious  persons, 
who  were  Romanists;  but  it  is  the  system  of  the 
church  to  which  I  object — not  so  much  to  particular 
individuals ;  though  these  have  all  held  errors,  more 


THE  CONTROVERSY.  89 

or  less,  yet  they  may  have  had  no  opportunity  of 
learning  the  truth  and  of  obtaining  a  clearer  light — 
and  thus,  doubtless,  been  accepted  before  God. 
Wherever  an  error  exists,  I  would  not  think  lightly 
of  that  error,  but  I  would  deal  clemently  and  gently 
with  the  persons  holding  it.  What  is  contrary  to 
the  Bible,  we  should  withstand  with  our  whole  soul. 
Gavazzi's  lectures,  in  this  country,  have  done  much 
to  warn  people  against  the  encroachments  of  the 
Romish  Church,  and  to  rouse  them  to  a  sense  of 
their  danger  in  allowing  the  Romanists  to  gain  a  foot- 
ing— for  give  them  an  inch  and  they  will  take  an  ell." 

"  O !  Papa,  I  felt  as  if  I  could  have  listened  to 
that  noble  Gavazzi  for  hours,"  said  Beatrice ;  "  his 
eloquence  was  so  impassioned ;  his  power  of  argu- 
ment so  clear  and  convincing,  and  his  whole  appear- 
ance so  striking.  O !  it  is  something  great,  when  a 
man  gives  up  his  position  in  that  haughty  church, 
to  become  an  exile  from  his  native  land,  for  the  sake 
of  the  glorious  Truth,  which  alone  can  make  poor 
Italy  free  or  enable  our  own  America  to  remain  so  I" 
and  Beatrice's  eyes  kindled  with  enthusiasm  as  she 
spoke. 

"  Well,  for  my  part,"  said  Mrs.  Grant,  "  I  have 
heard  a  good  many  things  said  against  Gavazzi ;  I 
must  say,  I  am  always  cautious  to  admire:. I  have 
no  doubt  the  man  makes  a  great  deal  of  money 
going  about  as  he  does." 


40  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"  My  dear  Louisa,"  said  Mr.  Evelyn,  "  why  what 
an  unreasonable  woman  you  are !  if  you  go  on  con- 
demning everybody  in  that  cynical  way,  there  will 
soon  be  no  one  left  to  admire.  Don't  you  know, 
that  whenever  a  man  puts  himself  forward  in  the 
cause  of  truth,  or,  in  fact,  in  any  good  cause  whatso- 
ever, a  whole  swarm  of  enemies  are  sure  to  rise  up 
directly  and  begin  to  attack  his  motives  and  slander 
his  conduct  ?  but  in  the  present  case,  I  should  think 
the  Padre's  actions  spoke  for  themselves ;  he  has 
given  up  his  home,  and  his  country,  and  his  friends, 
and  is  now  subject  to  many  persecutions  and  annoy- 
ances; look,  for  instance,  at  the  attack  made  on  him 
in  Montreal ;  and  as  for  money,  why,  I  believe,  he  has 
several  converted  priests  in  London  and  elsewhere, 
depending  on  him  for  their  support — and  the  loss  of 
his  means  of  subsistence,  in  his  own  country,  does 
not  go  for  nothing.  I  think,  as  long  as  it  is  in  our 
power,  we  should  endeavor  to  judge  charitably  of 
every  man ;  and  not,  because  one  man  comes  boldly 
forward  from  the  common  herd,  and  dares  to  attack 
old  prejudices  and  to  speak  energetically  against 
crying  errors,  immediately  begin  calling  out:  O 
dear!  he  must  be  acting  from  some  underhand 
motive  —  I  don't  believe  he  means  what  he  says." 

Mr.  Chichester  then  rose  to  take  leave,  and  when 
he  had  gone,  Mr.  Evelyn  rang  the  bell  to  summon 
the  servants  to  family  prayers.  These  were  con- 


FAMILY  PKAYER.  41 

ducted,  in  his  household,  in  a  manner  suitable  to  the 
family  of  a  Christian.  Mr.  Evelyn  first  read  a  por- 
tion of  Scripture,  and  explained,  in  simple  and  clear 
language,  the  meaning  and  practical  signification  of 
the  passage.  The  whole  family  then  joined  in  a 
hymn,  which  Beatrice  led,  accompanying  the  voices 
on  the  piano;  and  then,  all  kneeling,  Mr.  Evelyn 
offered  an  earnest  prayer,  expressive  of  their  mutual 
wants  and  mutual  causes  of  thankfulness  to  God. 


CHAPTER  Hi. 

TO    A    CHILD. 

"  Nearer  I  seem  to  God,  when  looking  on  thee . 
'Tis  ages  since  He  made  His  youngest  star ; 
His  hand  was  on  thee  as  'twere  yesterday, 
Thou  late^  Revelation !    Silver  stream, 
Breaking  with  laughter  from  the  Lake  Divina 
"Whence  all  things  flow."— ALEXANDEB  SMITH. 

THE  next  morning,  when  Beatrice  awoke,  almost 
her  first  thought  was  of  little  Blanche:  poor  child, 
she  thought,  how  lonely  and  strange  she  must  feel. 
I  know  she  will  be  glad  to  see  me  again,  and  have 
some  one  to  whom  she  can  speak  a  word.  I  wish 
Hetty  were  here,  she  would  be  such  a  lively  play- 
fellow for  her — poor  little  motherless  thing.  With 
these  thoughts  in  her  mind,  Beatrice  rose  and 
dressed  quickly,  and  as  soon  as  breakfast  was  con- 
cluded, she  set  out  for  Hawthorn  street  in  the 
phaeton,  accompanied  by  Socrates. 

Little  Blanche  was  watching  for  htr  from  the  win- 
dow; and  uttering  an  exclamation  of  delight,  sha 

rushed  to  the  top  of  the  stairs  to  meet  Beatrice  and 
(  42  ) 


THE  DEPASTURE.  43 

threw  her  arms  round  her  neck,  calling  her,  her 
chere,  chere  amie. 

"  An'  sure,  an'  is  it  strangling  the  lady  ye  'd  be," 
said  Bridget;  "-what  for  should  ye  be  thinking  I 
wouldn't  offer  her  a  cheer  meself.  Won't  you  plase 
to  walk  in,  Miss — sure  an'  how  should  a  poor  West 
Ingin  like  that,  that  can't  spake  a  word  of  English 
nor  Irish  either,  know  any  manners  ?" 

"  The  poor  child  was  only  showing  her  delight  in 
seeing  me,  Biddy,"  said  Beatrice,  smiling ;  "  but  I 
will  come  in  while  you  put  up  what  clothes  she  has." 

"  Clothes,  Miss ! — an'  is  it  clothes  intirely  you  're 
maning  ?  sorra  an'  niver  a  blessed  bit  o'  clothes  has 
she  got,  but  them  you  see  on  her ;  it  was  a  marcy 
she  was  saved  from  being  dhrowned  at  all,  at  all ! 
there  wasn't  much  time  to  think  o'  her  clothes." 

"Really,  Biddy,  I  was  very  stupid  not  to  think 
of  that,"  said  Beatrice,  "but  she  looks  so  nice  and 
neat,  that  I  was  forgetting  that  what  she  has  on 
must  be  all  her  wardrobe." 

"Ye  see,  Mistress,"  said  Biddy,  "they're  good 
and  fine  clothes,  but  having  but  one  set  of  'em,  I 
was  oblijed  to  wash  'em  all  out  yisterday,  and  sorra 
niver  a  bit  o'  my  childers'  duds  would  she  have^n 
her  while  they  vas  a-drying,  but  she  jist  lay  still  in 
the  bed  yonder,  looking  at  me  working.  Well! 
well! 'Miss,  tho'  her  tongue  does  seem  a  bit  queer 
to  me,  my  heart  warms  toward  the  poor  child." 
4 


a  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"She  cannot  thank  you  now,  Biddy,  for  herself, 
but  I  will  thank  you  for  her,  and  we  will  come,  some 
day  soon,  and  see  you  again ;  and  I  will  try,  before 
then,  to  teach  Blanche  enough  of  English  to  tell  you 
how  grateful  she  feels  for  all  you  have  done  for  her." 

"  An'  sure  the  poor  darlint's  welcome,  intirely 
welcome ;  an'  I  wish  it  was  more  we  could  have  done 
for  her.  Come  now,  shake  hands  with  me  before  you 
go,  little  Missy,  ye  can  that  do  at  laste,  I  suppose," 
said  Biddy. 

"  Serrez-lui  la  main,"  said  Beatrice  to  Blanche, 
who  did  as  she  was  told,  and  having  received  a  kiss 
on  the  forehead  from  the  good  motherly  Irishwoman 
she  gladly  followed  Beatrice  down  stairs  to  the  phae- 
ton, which  soon  deposited  them  at  home. 

"  Wait  a  moment,  Socrates,"  said  Beatrice,  as 
she  jumped  lightly  out  and  helped  Blanche  to  get 
down  ;  "perhaps  I  shall  want  to  go  into  the  city  to 
do  some  shopping,  so  you  had  better  not  take  the 
harness  off  President,  just  yet." 

"  I  '11  wait  here  all  day  long,  if  Missy  likes,"  was 
the  old  man's  reply. 

Mr.  Evelyn  met  them  in  the  hall.  "  Well,  Bee ! 
hefe  you  are ;  I  thought  it  was  about  time  you  were 
coming ;  I  wanted  to  speak  with  you  about  some 
arrangements  concerning  your  little  charge,  before  I 
go  into  the  city,  where  I  have  to  attend  a  meeting 
of  the  educational  board  to-day." 


YOUTHFUL  REMEMBRANCES.  -45 

"  Yes !  Papa,"  said  Beatrice,  "  let  us  go  into  the 
library,  and  there  we  can  settle  it  all  quietly." 

"Papa!"  said  little  Blanche,  heaving  a  deep  sigh, 
" ah!  si  c'  etait  mon  Papa!  mais  il  etait  plus  grand 
et  il  avait  les  cheveux  plus  noirs  que  ce  monsieur  la, 
et  de  plus  il  m'  aurait  baise." 

"No,  I  am  not  your  Papa,  poor  little  one,"  said 
Mr.  Evelyn,  as  he  seated  himself  on  a  library  chair, 
and  took  Blanche  on  his  knee,  kissing  her  warmly 
as  he  did  so,  "but  I  will  be  your  Papa,  till  I 
can  send  you  back  to  your  uncle  in  the  West  Indies, 
and  I  will  take  care  of  you,  now  your  own  Papa  is 
dead." 

"  Ah  !  mon  pauvre  Papa,"  said  Blanche,  "  je  sais 
bien  qu'  il  est  mort,  mais  je  ne  puis  pas  le  croire." 

After  some  consultation,  it  was  agreed  that  Bea- 
trice should  go  into  the  city  with  her  father  to  pur- 
chase some  clothes  for  Blanche,  and  that  on  their 
return,  Mr.  Evelyn  should  write  to  Monsieur  de 
Tremonille,  letting  him  know  of  his  brother's  death 
and  his  niece's  safety. 

So  it  was  arranged,  but  Blanche  had  to  go  with 
them,  for  she  begged  not  to  be  left  in  that  "  grande 
maison  "  by  herself;  and  she  did  not  much  fancy  the 
appearance  of  Mrs.  Grant,  who  came  into  the  library 
while  she  was  waiting  for  Beatrice,  who  had  run 
out  of  the  room  to  make  up  her  list  of  commissions — 
and  in  truth,  Mrs.  Grant  did  not  receive  her  very 


4:6  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

cordially,  for  a  cool  nod  and  a  survey  from  head  to 
foot,  were  all  Blanche  received. 

How  a  word  of  kindness  wins  a  child's  heart ! 
and  how  quick  children  are  to  perceive  the  feelings 
of  grown-up  persons  toward  them ;  they  seem  to 
know  instinctively  where  there  is  love  and  sunshine, 
and  to  cling  to  it  and  open  their  hearts  to  its  warmth. 

"When  they  returned  from  the  city,  it  was  past 
three  o'clock ;  Mr.  Evelyn  had  been  detained  some 
time  at  the  school-meeting. 

Beatrice  took  Blanche  through  the  house,  that  she 
might  get  to  feel  at  home,  and  then  led  her  into  the 
conservatory  to  see  her  favorite  flowers.  Blanche 
said  she  wished  Mademoiselle  Evelyn  could  but  see 
the  "  fleurs  magnifiques "  of  the  West  Indies,  and 
the  cocoa-nut  trees,  and  the  pretty  little  humming- 
birds, and  the  beautiful  bright  butterflies.  Sitting 
down  on  a  rustic  seat,  Beatrice  took  Blanche  on  her 
knee,  and  suffered  her  to  expatiate  to  her  heart's 
content  on  all  the  tropical  beauties  she  had  seen, 
and  on  the  manner  of  life  at  her  Aunt's  house, 
which,  she  said,  was  up  on  "les  hautes  montagnes," 
and  that  it  was  quite  pleasantly  cool  there,  and  not 
burning  hot,  as  it  was  on  the  plains.  Beatrice 
began  to  lose  herself  in  dreams  of  sunny  lands  and 
bright  verdure,  when  she  remembered  that  talking 
would  not  make  Blanche's  clothes ;  and  taking  her 
hand  she  went  up  stairs  and  sought  Jane,  her  own 


VACATION  TERM.  47 

and  Mrs.  Grant's  maid,  with  whose  assistance  she 
managed  to  cut  out  a  frock  and  some  of  the  most 
necessary  articles  of  linen,  and  leaving  Jane  part  of 
the  work,  she  took  the  rest  down  to  the  drawing- 
room  and  set  busily  to  work,  ensconcing  herself  in  a 
corner  of. the  sofa,  plying  her  needle  diligently,  while 
Blanche  prattled  gayly,  jumping  up  every  now  and 
then  as  some  fresh  object  of  attention  in  the  room 
struck  her  eye. 

The  next  day  was  Saturday,  and  Hetty  was  fetched 
from  school  to  spend  the  Sunday  at  home.  Blanche 
was  rather  in  awe  of  her  at  first,  but  a  speedy  friend- 
ship was  soon  formed  between  them,  and  indeed, 
there  was  something  of  a  similarity  between  them — 
both  were  naturally  impulsive  and  lively,  and  both 
full  of  buoyant  spirits. 

Blanche  was  not  the  kind  of  child  to  be  in  the 
way,  at  all ;  she  seemed,  instinctively,  to  know 
when  she  was  not  wanted,  and  would  sit  quietly  by 
herself,  with  a  book  of  pictures  or  an  old  doll  of 
Hetty's,  by  the  hour  together:  she  had  a  great 
reverence  and  love  for  Beatrice ;  and  never  dreamed 
of  disputing  her  word — indeed,  her  sweet  and  plia- 
ble disposition  seemed  to  gain  her  general  love, 
and  even  Mrs.  Grant  was  a  little  thawed  toward 
her.  In  a  few  days  she  began  to  speak  a  little 
broken  English,  which  was  a  source  of  great  amuse- 
ment to  them  all ;  and  Socrates  frequently  had  to 


48  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

dart  from  the  dining-room,  while  waiting  at  dinner, 
to  give  vent  to  explosions  of  laughter — he  said  the 
little  French  lady  was  so  "pecooliar  in  her  discourse." 

Things  rolled  quietly  on.  The  next  Saturday  was 
the  commencement  of  Hetty's  vacation  term,  and 
gladly  was  the  time  looked  forward  to  and  welcomed. 
Many  were  now  the  delightful  excursions  and  drives 
to  the  country,  enjoyed  by  the  girls  ;  and  the  days 
slipped  rapidly  by,  till  the  time  came  for  an  answer 
to  be  received  from  the  "West  Indies. 

One  morning,  Mr.  Evelyn  entered  the  breakfast- 
room,  holding  a  letter  in  his  hands,  and  with  some 
concern  depicted  on  his  countenance.  Seating  him- 
self at  the  table,  he  said,  he  had  just  heard  from  a 
.gentleman,  a  merchant  of  St.  Thomas,  who  said 
that  Monsieur  Eugene  de  Tremonville  had  died  the 
preceding  week  of  a  rapid  attack  of  fever,  and  that 
his  widow  was  still  so  much  overcome  by  his  loss, 
that  she  had  felt  unable  to  write,  herself,  respecting 
his  niece,  but  that  she  was  very  anxious  to  have  the 
little  girl  sent  to  her  as  soon  as  possible,  being  re- 
solved to  adopt  her  as  her  own,  and  that,  further, 
could  Mr.  Evelyn  procure  any  person  on  whom  ha 
could  place  sufficient  reliance  to  trust  with  the  charge 
of  the  child,  they  should  receive  a  handsome  remu^ 
neration  for  their  trouble. 

Blanche's  face  looked  very  grave,  wnen  it  was 
explained  to  her  that  her  uncle  Eugene  was  dead 


THE  LETTER.  49 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  she,  "  que  ferai-je  done  mainten- 
ant  pour  un  Papa !  and  if  I  go  chez  ma  tante,  Mr. 
Evelyn  will  not  be  my  Papa  non-plus." 

"  God  will  be  your  father  and  your  friend,  dear 
Blanche,"  said  Beatrice,  "  if  you  love  Him  and  trust 
in  Him." 

"Yes,"  replied  Blanche;  "and  I  do  love  Him, 
for  my  own  real  Papa  is  gone  to  live  with  Him,  and 
I  know  he  loved  Him  for  he  used  to  talk  to  rae 
about  God  and  Heaven  every  day." 

"But  really,"  said  Mr.  Evelyn,  "I  do  not  see 
what  is  to  be  done  with  the  poor  child.  How  can 
I,  possibly,  find  anybody  going  from  New  York  to 
St.  Thomas,  who  would  be  willing,  even  for  money, 
to  take  charge  of  a  little  girl  all  that  distance  ;  and, 
beside,  I  should  not  like  to  trust  any  one  with  her. 
but  an  old  friend  of  my  own,  or  unless  there  were  a 
lady  going  —  and  such  an  opportunity  might  not 
occur  for  a  year  or  more." 

"  Well,  Papa,  we  will  take  care  of  her  till  such  a 
time  comes,"  said  Hetty  ;  "  I  want  to  teach  Blanche 
to  speak  English  well,  before  she  goes." 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Evelyn,  "  I  will  con- 
sider the  subject ;  I  feel  that  her  widowed  aunt  will 
want  her,  and  that  it  would  be  a  great  satisfaction 
to  me  to  know  that  she  was  safe  among  her  friends. 
Inclosed  in  the  letter,"  continued  Mr.  Evelyn, 
'•  came  a  remittance  of  money,  to  a  considerable 


50  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

amount,  from  Madame  do  Tremonille,  and  a  mes- 
sage from  her,  begging  me  to  procure  with  it  such 
things  as  were  necessary  for  her  niece,  both  during 
her  sojourn  in  America  and  also  for  the  voyage ; 
and  expressing  a  wish,  at  the  same  time,  that  part 
of  it  might  be  laid  out  in  purchasing  some  useful 
present  for  the  family  of  the  poor  Irish  sailor,  whom 
I  mentioned,  when  I  wrote,  as  having  been  so  instru- 
mental in  saving  her  life  at  the  time  of  the  ship- 
wreck. I  know  Blanche  will  be  glad  to  take  a  pre- 
sent to  poor  Pat  Ryan,  who  was  so  good  to  her — 
will  she  not  ?"  he  said,  as  he  stroked  her  soft,  dark 
curls  in  passing  across  the  room  to  the  library. 

"  Yes  sir,"  said  Blanche,  "  I  should  be  very  glad 
to  make  him  and  his  little  children  un  peu  com- 
fortable." 

"  "Well  then,  girls;  settle  what  the  present  is  to 
be,  among  yourselves  ;  and  let  me  know  the  result." 

"Come  Blanche,"  said  Hetty,  as  her  father  left 
the  room  "  you  and  I  and  Beatrice  will  go  and  hold 
a  grand  consultation ;  come,  let  us  all  go  into  the 
conservatory — it  will  be  cozy  there." 

Many  were  the  things  suggested  and  then  relin- 
quished as  unfeasible,  by  each  of  the  trio  ;  Blanche's 
selections,  by  reason  of  her  youth  and  inexperience, 
being,  of  course,  the  wildest  and  most  unsuitable. 
It  was  finally  settled,  however,  that  Pat  should  have 
a  silver  watch  and  a  new  pea-jacket,  both  of  which 


EIDE  TO  TOWN.  51 

would  be  useful  to  him  at  sea ;  that  Biddy  should 
rejoice  in  the  possession  of  a  brown  stuff  gown  and 
a  bright  plaid  shawl  with  a  neat  straw  bonnet,  and 
that  each  of  the  little  ones  should  have  a  new  suit 
of  clothes,  many  of  the  articles  of  which  could  be 
bought  ready-made,  such  as  jackets,  caps,  shoes, 
socks,  etc.  The  whole  could  be  purchased,  Beatrice 
said,  for  fifty  dollars ;  and  this  was  voted  not  too 
much,  and  the  committee  accordingly  adjourned  to 
Papa,  who  highly  approved  of  their  choice,  but,  he 
added,  that  as  he  had  set  aside  a  larger  sum  than 
fifty  dollars  for  the  family,  he  should  give  the  rest  in 
money  to  Biddy,  to  help  her  to  support  her  little 
ones  during  Pat's  absence  at  sea. 

Mr.  Evelyn  then  volunteered  to  go  into  the  city 
with  them,  and  purchase  the  articles,  as  some  of 
them,  such  as  the  pea-jacket  and  watch,  would 
require  his  judgment ;  the  phaeton  would  just  hold 
four,  too,  so  it  was  agreed  they  should  all  go. 

"  Perhaps,  Aunt  Louisa  might  want  to  go  into 
the  city  to-day,"  said  Beatrice ;  "  I  will  just  run  and 
ask  her — I  should  not  like  us  all  to  go,  without  say- 
ing anything  to  her  about  it." 

But  it  was  found,  that  Aunt  Louisa  did  not  want 
to  go,  being  very  busy  up-stairs  about  some  elabor- 
ate piece  of  transferring ;  and  the  rest  of  the  party 
were  soon  ready  to  start. 


52  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

The  different  articles  were  quite  satisfactorily 
bought,  and  the  money  was  amply  sufficient — but 
as  they  could  not  quite  guess  at  the  size  of  the 
clothes  for  the  two  largest  boys,  they  arranged  to 
change  them  if  they  did  not  fit.  As  the  parcels 
were  large,  it  was  agreed  that  they  should  drive 
back  by  Hawthorn  street,  and  so  all  have  the  plea- 
sure of  seeing  the  presents  given.  Poor  Biddy  was 
very  much  astonished,  when,  after  having  tied  Pre- 
sident to  a  post  on  the  side- walk,  Mr.  Evelyn,  and 
his  daughters,  and  Blanche,  all  went  up  the  narrow 
staircase,  each  bearing  a  large  bundle.  She  had  her 
youngest  child  in  her  arms,  a  little  fair -haired  girl 
of  some  sixteen  months  old,  who  nestled  her  head  in 
her  mother's  breast  at  the  sight  of  so  many 
strangers. 

"Well,  Biddy,  where 's  Pat  to-day?"  said  Mr 
Evelyn,  as  she  met  them  on  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

"  Faith,  sir,  an'  its  jist  in  the  room  he  is,  taking 
his  bit  o'  dinner  ;  and  sorra  I  be  to  say,  that  his  ship 
is  to  sail  ag'in  for  them  furrin'  parts  in  ten  days — 
short  time  enough,  sir,  the  blessed  darlint  that  he 
is,"  said  she,  wiping  her  eyes  ;  "  but  plase  walk  in, 
sir." 

"  Well,  Biddy,"  returned  Mr.  Evelyn,  "  dry  your 
eyes,  and  look  what  a  kind  French  lady,  little 
Blanche's  aunt,  has  sent  Pat,  to  thank  him  for 


BLANCHE'S  GRATITUDE.  53 

taking  such  care  of  her  niece,  after  her  poor  father's 
death." 

Pat's  parcel  was  then  unrolled,  and  unbounded 
was  the  glee  of  the  family  at  its  contents  ;  the  watch 
seemed  to  give  Pat  immense  satisfaction ;  he  said 
it  made  him  feel  quite  grand,  and  that  it  would  be 
so  useful  to  him,  when  his  ship  should  be  in  port 
any  time,  and  he  should  get  leave  to  go  on  shore  for 
a  few  hours,  that  he  might  know  when  to  return  to 
the  vessel  again,  and  "  many,  many  times  beside 
that,  yer  honor,"  he  continued ;  "  and  the  jacket, 
too,  it's  a  raal  beauty !  not  but  what  the  young  lady 
was  vastly  welcome  to  what  little  I  could  do  to  help 
her  —  poor  thing,  she  was  bad  enough  off  as  it 
was." 

"Pat,  I  can  say  thank  you,  now,"  said  little 
Blanche,  advancing  timidly ;  "  thank  you  for  all  de 
great  kindness  you  and. Biddy  have  showed  to  me." 

She  could  not  trust  her  English  acquirements 
farther.  But  Biddy  was  delighted,  and  kissing  her 
fondly,  she  told  her  she  was  "  a  raal  clever  child, 
and  would  soon  talk  like  any  dacent  crathur." 

Beatrice  next  produced  the  gown  and  shawl  for 
Biddy,  while  Blanche  held  up  the  bonnet.  There 
were  fresh  exclamations  of  delight  and  rapture  as 
Bridget  held  up  a  width  of  the  gown  before  her,  and 
put  on  the  shawl  and  bonnet,  (which  was  neatly 
trimmed  with  a  green  ribbon). 
4 


54  GKEATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"Sure,  an'  ould  girl,  I'll  always  think  of  ye,  just 
as  you  look  this  blessed  minnit,  when  I'm  far  away 
upon  the  broad  says,"  said  Fat,  looking  fondly  at 
his  wife. 

A  tear  stood  in  Biddy's  eye — half  of  sorrow  and 
half  of  joy.  Her  heart  was  too  full  to  speak,  so  she 
only  smiled  a  look  of  affection  and  love  at  her 
husband. 

The  little  ones  had,  ere  this,  received  their  share 
from  Hetty  and  Beatrice,  and  were  all  busily  engaged 
trying  on  the  various  articles,  most  of  which  fitted 
admirably,  and  the  rest,  were  to  go  with  their 
mother,  next  morning,  to  be  changed.  Mr.  Evelyn 
then  slipped  a  purse,  containing  fifty  dollars,  into 
Biddy's  hand  ;  and  willing  to  leave  the  family  to  the 
enjoyment  of  their  treasures,  the  party  bade  them  all 
farewell,  and  a  few  minutes  brought  them  to  their 
own  door. 

The  time  of  Hetty's  vacation  drew  to  a  close,  and 
many  were  the  lamentations  uttered  on  her  depar- 
ture. It  now,  of  course,  became  a  favorite  recrea- 
tion, with  Beatrice  and  Blanche,  to  drive  over  to 
see  Hetty ;  and  gladly  did  the  latter  welcome  the 
sight  of  President  drawing  the  phaeton  up  the 
avenue  leading  to  the  school. 

Blanche's  education  was  not  neglected  by  Beatrice, 
and  she  began  to  speak  English  very  tolerably  in- 
deed, and  in  her  visits  to  the  houses  of  the  poor,  and 


AUTUMN.  55 

the  school,  and  in  as  near  an  approach  to  what  may 
be  called  country-rambles,  as  they  could  find  in  the 
outskirts  of  a  city,  Beatrice  found  her  a  pleasant 
and  useful  little  companion.  When  Mrs.  Grant 
chose  to  accompany  them,  Blanche  readily  under- 
stood that  she  was  to  chatter  less  than  usual ;  and 
she  trotted  along,  very  demurely,  by  Beatrice's 
side. 

Thus  the  days  passed  by,  till  the  autumn-time 
crept  upon  them.  It  was  the  beginning  of  October; 
the  trees  had  assumed  those  glorious  fall-tints,  for 
which  the  American  forests  are  so  justly  remark- 
able :  stores  of  fruits,  for  winter  hoarding,  apples, 
pears  and  nuts  of  all  kinds,  arrived  in  large  quan- 
tities from  a  small  farm  which  Mr.  Evelyn  owned  in 
the  country,  and  carefully  putting  these  away,  sort- 
ing and  arranging  them,  furnished  many  hours' 
employment  for  Beatrice  and  Blanche.  There  were 
now  pleasant,  cozy  evenings  passed  by  the  side  of 
bright  fires ;  Beatrice  read  aloud,  a  great  deal,  to 
Mr.  Evelyn,  while  Mrs.  Grant  sat  and  knitted,  and 
Blanche  made  clothes  for  her  doll  or  drew  on  her 
transparent  slate.  Still  no  escort  had  been  found 
for  the  latter,  though  Mr.  Evelyn  had  made  persever- 
ing inquiries  ;  and  he  had  been  the  more  incited  to 
do  this,  as  two  more  letters  had  been  received  from 
Madame  de  Tremonille,  begging  him  to  send  little 
Blanche  home  to  her,  as  soon  as  possible. 


56  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

One  evening  found  them  all  thus  assembled  in  the 
drawing-room ;  the  tea-tray  had  just  been  brought 
in,  and  the  urn  was  steaming  and  hissing  on  the 
tab\e. 

"  Papa  °  said  Beatrice,  "I  often  feel,  when  things 
are  so  pleasant  around  me,  almost  too  great  a  sense 
of  satisfaction  and  gratification.  I  feel  as  if  they 
could  not  pass  away  from  me ;  I  do  so  like  to  go 
on  in  just  a  quiet  way,  with  no  particular  event 
happening.  Just  a  quiet  round  of  usefulness,  with 
the  society  of  those  I  love,  is  all  I  seem  to  care  for." 

"Well,  my  child,"  returned  her  father,  "I  think 
we  cannot  be  too  sensible  of  God's  many  mercies, 
nor  enjoy  them  too  thoroughly  and  gratefully,  but 
we  must  always  remember  that  we  hold  these  things 
by  an  uncertain  tenure  ;  we  must  be  content  to  en 
joy  them,  and  yet  content  to  give  them  up  if  it  be 
His  will ;  we  should  never  say,  as  Job  records  of 
himself,  "  I  will  die  in  my  nest ;"  we  must  not,  as 
it  were,  cling  to  a  future  of  our  own  imagining,  and 
say,  this  one  thing  will  I  have,  and  nothing  else. 
It  is  not  wrong  to  be  happy  when  the  Lord  gives  us, 
as  it  were,  a  breathing-time  in  our  journey — but  we 
must  be  able  to  say  with  Paul,  'none  of  these  things 
move  me;  neither  count  I  my  life  dear  to  myself,  so 
that  I  may  finish  my  course  with  joy.'  When  yom 
dear  mother  was  alive,  my  Bee,  I  used  to  feel  some- 
times almost  too  happy  in  her  society  —  she  was 


THE  MINIATURE.  57 

Bticli  a  gentle,  loving  friend  and  companion  to  me, 
and  her  habits  and  tastes  were  so  in  accordance 
with  my  own,  that  I  never  used  to  picture  anything 
else  to  my  mind  but  a  continuance  of  such  bliss, 
and  a  quiet  journey  together,  hand  in  hand,  down 
the  hill  of  life.  Xow  the  Lord  has  taken  her  to 
Himself  long  ago,  and  yet  I  am  not  unhappy  —  I 
seem  to  have  a  brighter  and  pleasanter  prospect 
awaiting  me  on  the  other  side  of  the  dark  river, 
now  that  she  has  passed  over  before  me;  and  when 
I  look  on  this  side,  I  see  many  blessings  to  rejoice 
in — and  you  and  my  gladsome  Hetty  are  left  to 
cheer  nay  old  age.  You,  especially,  bring  your  dear 
mother  to  my  remembrance ;  my  Bee,  you  are  the 
most  like  her,  both  in  appearance  and  manners." 

Beatrice  made  no  reply,  but  gently  kissed  her 
father's  forehead,  for  she  felt  the  subject  was  too 
sacred  to  admit  of  much  conversation.  When  she 
went  up-stairs  to  bed  that  night,  Beatrice  took  from 
her  dressing-case  a  small  miniature  portrait  of  her 
mother,  which  her  father  had  given  her  some  years 
before,  and  as  she  gazed  on  the  soft  and  gentle  linea- 
ments, she  felt  what  a  loss  such  a  wife  must  have 
been  to  him,  and  she  inwardly  resolved  to  devote 
herself  more  than  ever  to  promote  his  comfort  and 
happiness ;  and  I  am  sure  it  requires  no  self-denial 
to  do  this,  thought  she,  as  she  gazed  round  her  com 
iortable  room.  Elegant  prints  adorned  the  neatly- 


58  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

papered  walls ;  a  bright  and  cheerful  chintz  covered 
the  furniture ;  in  one  corner  hung  the  cage  of  her 
favorite  canaries,  and  in  the  other  was  a  well-sup- 
plied book-case,  while  two  or  three  pretty  marble 
statuettes  stood  on  the  mantle-piece.  Dear  Papa 
leaves  me  nothing  to  wish  for,  said  Beatrice  to  her- 
self, and  he  is  so  kind  a  friend  and  counselor,  how  can 
I  do  otherwise  than  love  him  ?  She  walked  to  the 
window,  and  drawing  aside  the  curtain,  gazed  at 
the  moon  and  stars,  which  were  shining  in  unclouded 
brilliancy.  O!  how  many  events  these  pure  stars 
look  down  on !  thought  she ;  it  fills  my  heart  with 
an  indefinable  feeling  of  melancholy,  admiration 
and  humility.  How  very,  very  little  do  the  affairs 
of  one  individual  of  this  earth  seem  when  gazing 
on  that  immensity  of  space !  And  yet  our  Heavenly 
Father,  who  created  all,  cares  for  every  one  of  his 
children ;  not  a  hair  of  their  heads  falls  to  the  ground 
without  Him.  O !  that  I  might  be  enabled  to  do 
some  work  for  Him,  in  my  time  on  earth !  Lord  ! 
help  me  to  be  patient  and  wait !  I  have  sometimes 
felt  as  if  it  were  impossible  that  I  should  be  remem- 
bered by  God,  after  my  body  shall  have  passed  into 
dust ;  I,  a  poor,  unknown  individual,  but  one  among 
the  millions  now  inhabiting  the  earth,  and,  what  is 
more,  among  the  millions  upon  millions  who  have 
passed  into  eternity.  But  I  do  know  and  feel  that 
it  was  only  the  weakness  of  my  faith  which  evei 


POETICAL  EFFUSION.  59 

gave  me  these  feelings  ;  that  all  things  are  possible 
with  God,  and  that  his  elect  will  surely  be  remem- 
bered by  Him  "in  the  day  when  He  maketh  up  his 
jewels."  Lord,  help  me  ever,  in  this  life,  to  have 
such  an  assurance  of  my  being  accepted  in  Jesus, 
that  my  faith  may  be  always  clear  and  bright. 

Turning  from  the  window,  Beatrice  sat  down  at 
her  little  reading-table  and  opened  a  manuscript 
book,  in  which  she  occasionally  noted  down  her 
thoughts  and  feelings,  or  any  particular  passage 
which  might  strike  her  when  reading.  She  now 
turned  over  its  pages  till  she  came  upon  some  lines 
she  had  written  some  time  before,  when  under  the 
influence  of  some  such  thoughts  as  those  we  have 
noticed  above : 

"  There  is  a  time  our  soul  is  fraught 
With  the  immensity  of  thought, 
And  hov  'ring  on  Time's  shelving  shore, 
Would  fain  th'  invisible  explore — • 
But,  dazzled  with  th'  excess  of  light, 
Must  shade  itself  in  th'  infinite. 
In  such  an  hour  we  frame  our  way, 
Far  from  the  turmoil  of  the  gay, 
Beneath  a  wood,  where  stately  trees  9 

Bend  o'er  still  waters  in  the  breeze — 
Like  guardian  shades,  the  flowers  above, 
Which  odors  breathe  in  grateful  love. 
There,  lying  on  a  mossy  bed, 
We  rest  our  world- worn,  aching  head, 
Gazing  on  fretted  roof,  bathed  through 
With  rays  from  Heaven's  own  boundless  blue. 


60  GKEATNESS  IN  LRTLE  THINGS. 

Fain  would  we  hush  the  thoughts  that  sweep, 
Across  the  soul's  storm-ruffled  deep; 
The  dread  immensity  of  calm, 
Pills  onr  weak  hearts  with  vain  alarm. 
'T  is  I!  'tis  I,  it  ever  must  be  I, 
On  through  the  mazes  of  eternityl 
I  am  but  one,  from  all  that  throng, 
That  hurrying  press  the  streets  along: 
Can  I,  a  speck,  forever  stay, 
Cared  for  and  known,  nor  pass  away 
To  that  dim  land,  where,  all  forgot, 
'  '  •  "          They  'd  say  he  was,  but  he  is  not  i 

O!  false,  weak  heart,  the  very  flowers, 
The  stream,  the  trees,  the  leafy  bowers, 
In  gladsome,  all-melodious  voice, 
Seem  lovingly  to  say,  rejoice 
In  Him  who  gave  us  endless  days, 
That  we  might  lose  ourselves  in  praise  j 
In  Him  alone  our  life  can  bo 
A  bliss  through  all  eternity; 
When  lost  in  Him  we  ever  move, 
Eejoicing  in  His  boundless  love." 

Beatrice  sank  into  a  kind  of  reverie,  and  sat  lean- 
ing her  head  on  her  hand,  till  she  was  roused  by 
hearing  the  clock  of  a  neighboring  church  toll  the 
hour  of  eleven.  She  stole  quietly  into  the  little 
dressing-room  adjoining,  where,  on  a  low  cot-bed, 
Blanche  lay  in  the  deep,  quiet  sleep  of  childhood. 
Giving  one  affectionate  glance  at  the  little  sleeper, 
Beatrice  returned,  leaving  the  door  of  communica- 
tion between  the  rooms  open,  as  was  her  custom,  in 
case  Blanche  should  awake  in  the  night.  Then 


THE  FIRE.  61 

extinguishing  her  candle,  she  softly  drew  aside  the 
window  curtain  and  allowed  the  calm  moonlight  to 
stream  into  the  room  before  she  knelt  down  to  pour 
forth  her  soul  in  prayer  to  her  Heavenly  Father. 
She  felt,  what  I  dare  say  many  of  my  readers  may 
have  experienced,  that  there  is  something  in  the 
sweet  moonlight  which  enables  one,  if  I  may  say  so, 
the  more  easily  to  bring  the  thoughts  to  hold  com- 
munion with  God.  Perhaps  it  is  that  the  pure 
calmness  of  the  light  seems  to  hush  and  tranquilize 
the  rebellious  senses,  and  enable  one  the  better  to 
curb  the  wanderings  of  the  thoughts.  Perhaps  it  is 
because  sin,  and  corruption,  and  decay  seem  less 
palpably  present  with  us,  and  that  therefore  the  soul 
that  clings  to  the  Tord,  who  is  called  "  the  Author  of 
light,"  in  such  an  hour,  appears  to  obtain  a  clearer 
and  more  precious  view  of  His  beauty  and  fullness. 

There  is  a  mysterious  feeling  of  stillness  and 
quietness  through  a  house,  when  every  one  has 
retired  to  bed.  How  every  sound  strikes  on  the  ear! 
There  is  the  clock  ticking  in  the  hall ;  how  loud  it 
sounds!  There  is  'a  cricket  chirping  in  the  kitchen ; 
how  distinctly  it  is  heard  up-stairs !  Even  the  very 
movements  of  our  own  body  seem  almost  to  startle 
us — to  be  doubly  conscious. 

Everything  had  long  been  silent  in  her  father's 
house,  when  Beatrice  crept  into  bed  that  night. 
After  two  or  three  hours  of  quiet  slumber,  she 


f>3  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

dreamt  that  she  was  in  the  cabin  of  a  ship  at  sea, 
and  that  it  was  so  small  and  confined  that  she  could 
not  breathe — it  seemed  as  if  the  close  air  was  stifling 
her,  and  starting  uneasily  in  her  sleep,  she  awoke 
slowly  to  the  consciousness  that  her  room  was  filled 
with  smoke.  Yes,  thick  volumes  of  smoke  filled 
both  that  room  and  the  adjoining  one,  'and,  almost 
suffocating,  Beatrice  jumped  up,  and  hastily  throw- 
ing a  dressing-gown  around  her,  she  rushed  into  the 
dressing-room  and  waking  Blanche,  she  enveloped 
her  in  a  shawl,  and  ran  quickly  along  the  corridor 
to  her  father's  room.  Knocking  quickly  and  loudly 
at  the  door,  she  called  :  "Papa!  Papa!  dear  Papa! 
the  house  is  on  fire  !  the  house  is  on  fire,  Papa !  oh, 
do  come!"  Mr.  Evelyn  was  quickly  aroused,  and 
commanding  his  daughter  and  little  Blanche  to 
remain  perfectly  quiet  in  his  room,  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, he  ran  to  arouso  his  sister  and  the  servants. 
Blanche  clung  tremblingly  to  Beatrice,  scarcely  yet 
awake,  and  hardly  knowing  what  to  fear.  In  a  very 
short  time  footsteps  were  heard  coming  along  the 
passage,  and  Mr.  Evelyn  entered,  followed  by  Jane, 
who  looked  very  pale,  and  had  a  bundle  of  clothes 
under  her  arm. 

"Come,  my  darling,  here  are  some  wraps,  such 
as  we  have  been  able  to  procure  in  the  hurry,"  said 
Mr.  Evelyn  to  Beatrice;  "make  haste  and  put  them 
round  Blanche  and  yourself,  and  then  follow  me 


*  THE  ESCAPE.  63 

down  the  back-stairs.  The  house  is  indeed  on  fire, 
my  child — the  flames  are  raging  furiously  in  the 
front ;  I  scarcely  think  we  shall  save  anything,  but 
I  must  first  see  you  and  your  aunt  safe  before  I  look 
to  anything  else.  Socrates  is  gone  to  give  the  alarm 
and  get  the  fire-engines." 

Beatrice  and  Blanche  were  ready  in  a  moment, 
with  Jane's  nimble  assistance,  and  just  then  Mrs. 
Grant  joined  them,  looking  very  much  frightened. 
Bidding  them  all  follow  him  quickly,  Mr.  Evelyn 
led  them  all  out  of  the  house,  and  hastily  passed  up 
the  street,  supporting  Mrs.  Grant,  while  Beatrice 
and  Blanche,  with  the  two  female  servants,  followed 
behind.  The  glare  already  illuminated  the  sky,  and 
the  fire-bells  were  tolling  in  all  parts  of  the  city. 
O !  how  strangely  and  unexpectedly  do  events 
happen !  thought  Beatrice — but  she  only  pressed 
Blanche's  hand,  and  the  latter  was  too  much  lost  in 
wonder  and  excitement  to  talk. 

At  about  two  squares  from  their  burning  house 
Mr.  Evelyn  stopped,  and  hastily  pulled  the  door-bell 
of  a  large  red  brick  dwelling,  where  their  minister, 
Mr.  Grey,  resided.  After  the  lapse  of  a  minute,  an 
upper  window  was  opened,  and  a  voice  inquired, 
"Who  is  there?" 

"A  friend  in  distress,  Mr.  Grey,"  said  Mr.  Eve- 
lyn;  "but  do  pray  come  down  and  let  us  in,  and  I 
will  tell  you  all  about  it." 


64:  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE 

The  window  was  quickly  shut,  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments the  minister,  himself,  was  heard  unbolting 
and  unbarring  the  street-door. 

A  few  words  from  Mr.  Evelyn  sufficed  to  explain 
the  nature  of  things. 

"  Come  into  the  drawing-room,"  said  Mr.  Grey, 
"and  establish  yourselves  as  you  best  may:  my 
wife  and  Walter  will  be  down  directly  to  see  if  they 
can  render  you  any  a~sistance,  and  I  will  call  up 
the  servant-girl  to  kindle  a  fire  immediately" — and 
the  good  man  bustled  about,  and  looked  so  sympa- 
thizing, that  our  poor  wanderers  felt  quite  comforted. 

"  Well  then,  sir,  I  shall  leave  them  all  under  your 
protection,"  said  Mr.  Evelyn ;  "I  must  go  back  to 
try  and  save  what  things  I  can.  The  back  of  the 
house  was  still  untouched,  when  we  left." 

Mr.  Grey  then  lit  a  candle  on  the  mantle-piece, 
and  hurried  out  of  the  room  to  make  further  prepar- 
ations for  their  comfort,  and  almost  directly  his  good, 
motherly  wife,  appeared.  Affectionately  kissing 
Beatrice,  she  expressed  her  warm  sympathy  with 
them  in  their  trouble,  saying,  at  the  same  time,  that 
she  was  very  glad  they  had  come  to  her,  and  she 
would  make  them  all  as  comfortable  as  she  possibly 
could.  The  servant-girl  lit  a  cheerful  fire  in  the 
grate,  and  took  possession  of  Mr.  Evelyn's  servants, 
and  carried  them  off  to  the  kitchen  regions  as  her 
guests. 


GREY.  65 

"I  hear  Walter  coming  down  the  stairs,  dear 
Beatrice,"  said  Mrs.  Grey,  "  but  you  need  not  mind 
him  ;  I  assure  you  you  look  quite  presentable  in  that 
hood  and  cloak.  He  would  not  like  to  be  away  from 
the  fire,  in  case  he  could  be  of  any  use :  beside, 
you  and  he  are  old  friends,  you  know." 

Beatrice  colored  slightly  as  Walter  Grey  came 
into  the  room  ;  and  hastily  shaking  hands  with  her, 
said,  there  was  no  time  for  ceremony  then,  but  that 
he  had  just  come  in  to  ask  her  if  there  were  any 
things  she  was  particularly  anxious  to  save  from  the 
fire,  in  case  it  should  be  in  his  power  to  get  at  them. 

Beatrice  hurriedly  named  a  few  articles,  among 
which  was  her  dressing-case  containing  her  mother's 
picture. 

"  Thank  you !  thank  you  !"  she  continued,  as  he 
turned  to  leave  the  room ;  "  but  pray  do  not  expose 
yourself  to  any  danger  on  iny  account ;  and  oh ! 
Mr.  Grey,  do  pray  look  after  my  dear  father,  and 
see  that  he  is  careful  of  himself." 

"  Never  fear,  never  fear,"  said  the  young  man, 
and  rushing  up  the  street,  he  was  out  of  sight  in  a 
moment. 

The  time  seemed  so  dull  and  so  fraught  with 
anxiety  while  waiting  at  Mrs.  Grey's !  She  was 
very  kind  to  be  sure,  but  it  felt  so  strange  to  Beatrice 
to  be  sitting  there  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
to  think  of  what  was  going  on  at  her  own  beloved 


66 


GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  «I 


home.  Little  Blanche  soon  went  to  sleep  on  the 
sofa,  comfortably  wrapped  up  in  a  large  shawl,  and 
a  cup  of  hot  tea  was  brought  in  for  Mrs.  Grant  and 
Beatrice.  Twice  they  all  went  to  the  top  of  the 
house  to  see  how  the  fire  was  gaining  ground. 
Alas  !  the  prospect  was  not  very  satisfactory.  There 
seemed  to  be  but  little  left  of  their  own  dwelling  but 
the  bare  walls,  at  the  last  visit  ;  and  two  of  the  ad- 
joining houses  had  caught  fire,  and  the  people  in 
them  were  to  be  seen  hurriedly  moving  their  furni- 
ture and  running  about  in  great  confusion,  while  the 
roofs  of  the  neighboring  houses  were  covered  with 
people  —  some  of  whom  were  mere  lookers-on,  while 
others  were  engaged  in  covering  any  wood-work 
which  was  exposed,  with  wet  carpets  and  blankets,  or 
in  extinguishing  any  large  sparks  which  might  have 
fallen  near  them.  Two  or  three  times  old  Mr.  Grey 
came  down  to  report  progress  to  them.  He  said 
that  a  great  number  of  their  things  had  been  saved 
and  had  been  carried,  as  the  night  was  fine,  to  an 
adjoining  lot,  with  Socrates  and  another  man  left  to 
guard  them  ;  that  Mr.  Evelyn's  house,  being  soon 
past  recovery,  he  and  his  own  son,  "Walter,  were 
busy  helping  those  whose  dwellings  had  caught  fire 
the  latest  —  and  of  these  there  were  now  several  — 
and  before  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  nearly  half 
a  square  had  been  burnt. 

A  little  after  that  hour  the  gentlemen  came  home. 


'    SICKNESS.  67 

Beatrice  ran  to  the  door  to  meet  her  father,  and 
found  him  in  a  miserable  plight,  drenched  to  the 
skin  with  water  from  the  hose  of  the  engines,  and 
shivering  from  head  to  foot.  She  was  almost  too 
thankful  to  see  him  again,  to  notice  this  at  first,  but 
Mr.  Grey  said:  "Come  now,  Miss  Beatrice,  your 
Papa  is  safe,  thank  God,  but  he  must  go  to  bed 
directly  and  get  a  good  hot  bath,  or  he  will  be  ill, 
and  that  will  be  worse  than  the  fire." 

Beatrice  looked  up  anxiously  in  her  father's  face, 
but'  he  assured  her  that  it  was  nothing — that  he  had 
certainly  got  a  thorough  wetting,  and  that  standing 
in  the  cool  night  air  had  made  him  feel  chilly,  but 
that  he  hoped  to  be  quite  right  again  soon. 

The  party  all  needed  rest  certainly,  so  a  mattress 
was  spread  on  the  drawing-room  floor  for  Mrs.  Grant 
and  Beatrice,  and  a  bed- room  was  quickly  got  ready 
for  Mr.  Evelyn,  and  ere  very  long  silence  reigned 
through  the  house. 

But  Beatrice  could  only  toss  restlessly  over,  and 
think  of  the  events  of  the  night  with  mingled  thank- 
fulness and  pain  —  thankfulness  for  their  preserva- 
tion, and  pain  when  she  thought  that  the  home  in 
which  she  had  spent  so  many,  many  happy  hours 
existed  no  longer.  Morning  dawned  ere  she  could 
compose  her  mind  to  anything  like  a  sufficiently 
tranquil  state,  even  for  a  troubled  sleep,  and  when 

she  again  awoke  the  sun  shone  brightly  through  the 
6 


G8  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE 

chinks  of  the  closed  shutters.  The  first  sight  of 
where  she  was,  shot  a  pang  of  regretful  remem- 
brance through  her  heart  as  the  circumstances  which 
brought  her  there  forced  themselves  upon  her  recol- 
lection. She  heard  kind  Mrs.  Grey  running  nimbly 
about  the  house,  apparently  engaged,  with  the  assist- 
ance of  the  servant,  in  preparing  breakfast  for  her 
large  party  of  unexpected  guests ;  and  presently 
came  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door,  and  her  good-natured 
face  peeped  in,  and  seeing  Beatrice  was  awake,  she 
softly  crept  into  the  room,  and  kissing  her,  told  her 
that  Socrates  had  arrived  with  as  many  of  their 
clothes  as  could  be  saved  in  the  hurry  and  confu- 
sion. These,  she  said,  were  more  than  might  have 
been  expected,  as  the  sheets  and  quilts  had  been 
hastily  torn  off  the  beds  and  filled  with  the  contents 
of  drawers  and  closets  and  then  thrown  out  in  large 
bundles  to  the  stand ers  below. 

"Mr.  Grey  is  dressed  and  gone  into  Mr.  Evelyn's 
room,  to  see  how  he  is  this  morning :  so  you  must 
all  of  you  come  quickly  up-stairs  to  my  dressing 
room  and  get  ready  for  breakfast,  for  Ann  will  not 
like  it  if  we  let  her  muffins  and  coffee  get  cold." 

Mrs.  Grant  and  Blanche  were  now  awake,  and 
following  Mrs.  Grey  up-stairs,  the  whole  party  were 
soon  comfortably  dressed  —  any  little  deficiency  in 
their  wardrobe,  or  in  the  appurtenances  of  the  toilet, 
being  supplied  by  her  with  ready  good-nature. 


BEATRICE'S  ANXIETY.  69 

Beatrice's  anxious  thoughts  were  with  her  father, 
for  she  feared  the  effects  of  the  past  night's  exposure 
on  his  constitution,  which  was  naturally  none  of  the 
strongest.  Mr.  Grey,  however,  was  still  with  him 
in  his  room,  so  she  did  not  like  to  go  herself,  at 
present,  to  ask  how  he  felt.  Stiil  she  was  very 
uneasy,  and  the  uneasiness  was  increased,  when  a 
few  moments  afterward  she  heard  Mr.  Grey's  voice 
at  the  top  of  the  stairs  softly  calling  Socrates,  who 
was  at  that  moment  passing  through  the  hall,  with 
a  tray  of  breakfast-things  in  his  hands. 

"  Me  coming  directly,  Massa  Grey,"  was  the 
reply;  and  after  a  few  whispered  words  from  Mr. 
Grey,  Socrates  went  quickly  out  of  the  hall-door. 

Hastily  summoning  her  resolution,  Beatrice  ran 
out  and  caught  Mr.  Grey  before  he  reached  her 
father's  room. 

"  O !  Mr.  Grey,  do  pray  tell  me  is  there  anything 
the  matter  with  dear  Papa  ?"  inquired  she,  breath- 
lessly ;  "is  he  very  ill ?  oh !  let  me  see  him  at 
once" — and  Beatrice  looked  up  beseechingly  in  Mr. 
Grey's  face. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,  compose  yourself,"  said  the 
good  minister,  "I  cannot  conceal  from  you  that  your 
father  appears  to  have  taken  a  very  severe  cold,  and 
that  at  the  present  moment  he  has  so  much  fever 
about  him,  that  I  thought  it  right  to  send  for  Dr. 

Morton. 
5 


70  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"  But  come  in,  my  dear,  and  see  him  for  yourself 
—  he  will  be  comforted  by  seeing  you." 

Without  speaking,  Beatrice  quickly  but  softly 
opened  the  door,  and  advancing  to  the  bed,  threw 
her  arms  round  her  father's  neck,  and  begged  him, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  to  tell  her  if  he  really  felt  so 
very  ill. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,  my  precious  one,"  replied 
Mr.  Evelyn;  "I  believe  I  have  caught  a  severer 
cold  than  I  anticipated,  but  I  feel  thankful  to  be  in 
the  hands  of  such  kind  friends,  and  above  all  to  see 
you  safe  and  well,  and  have  you  with  me  to  nurse 
me.  Dr.  Morton  will  be  here  presently,  and  I  dare 
say  I  shall  soon  be  well  again.  But  remember,  my 
Bee,  we  are  in  the  Lord's  hands,  let  him  do  with  me 
what  seemeth  Him  good." 

"  O !  Papa,  how  burning  hot  your  cheeks  and 
hands  are,"  said  Beatrice,  anxiously ;  "  is  there 
nothing  I  can  do  for  you  ?" 

"  I  think  I  should  like  a  cup  of  tea,  dear  child," 
said  her  father,  "  if  you  would  fetch  it  for  me." 

Beatrice  ran  down  stairs,  and  having  given  her 
father  the  tea,  she  sat  down  by  the  window  to  await 
the  doctor's  coming.  It  was  not  long  before  his 
buggy  drove  up  to  the  door,  and  he  came  up  to  Mr. 
Evelyn's  room,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Grey.  Beatrice 
left  them  both  with  her  father,  and  went  down  to  the 
room  where  the  rest  of  the  family  were  assembled 


THE  BIBLE.  71 

at  breakfast.  Blanche  jumped  up  to  meet  her 
with  a  glad  smile  of  welcome  on  her  face,  and  a8 
Beatrice  took  her  seat  at  the  table,  Mrs.  Grant 
inquired  after  her  brother's  health,  saying,  she  sup- 
posed, he  had  only  taken  a  slight  cold. 

"  Indeed,  Aunt,"  said  Beatrice,  "  it  seems  more, 
I  am  afraid,  than  a  slight  cold.  He  looks  so  feverish 
I  cannot  help  feeling  very  uneasy,  but  Dr.  Morton 
is  with  him  now." 

"  Well,  I  will  go  up  and  see  him  when  the  doctor 
comes  down,"  said  her  aunt. 

Beatrice  then  turned  to  Walter,  and  thanked  him 
warmly  for  his  exertions  in  their  behalf  during  the 
previous  night. 

"  I  only  wish  I  could  have  done  more,"  replied 
Walter ;  but  I  am  glad  to  say  I  secured  your  dress- 
ing-case, Miss  Evelyn.  See,  there  it  stands,"  he  con- 
tinued, pointing  to  a  small  table  near  the  window ; 
"and  there  are  a  few  books  beside,  which,  I  thought, 
you  might  value,  your  large  Bible  among  others." 

"Oh,  my  dear  old  Bible,"  said  Beatrice;  "I 
should  indeed  have  been  sorry  to  lose  that  —  it  was 
dear  Mamma's  gift  to  me  before  she  died,  when  I 
was  quite  a  little  girl.  It  was  so  thoughtful  of  you 
to  bring  it,  Mr.  Grey,  I  am  so  very,  very  much 
obliged  to  you." 

Walter  colored  with  pleasure,  he  was  only  too 
glad  to  have  been  able  to  please  Beatrice  Evelyn 


72  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

They  had  known  each  other  from  childhood,  though 
frequently,  of  late,  months  had  elapsed  without  any 
communication  between  them,  as  Walter  had  been 
at  college,  studying  for  a  physician.  Nothing  had 
ever,  as  yet,  passed  between  them  beyond  the  inter- 
change of  friendly  feelings  and  sentiments,  and  yet 
there  had  been  on  both  sides  an  almost  unacknowl- 
edged admiration  of  each  other's  character.  Walter 
had  long  seen  what  a  gentle,  loving,  and  yet  noble 
disposition  Beatrice  possessed,  and  had  often  thought 
to  himself,  what  a  wife  she  would  make  to  any  one 
worthy  of  her ;  but  his  own  worldly  prospects  were 
as  yet,  he  thought,  too  unsettled  to  admit  of  his 
thinking  of  himself  in  the  light  of  her  lover.  Still, 
he  allowed  himself  to  cherish  some  ray  of  hope  for 
the  future,  when  he  saw  that  Beatrice's  affections 
appeared  still  to  be  unengaged.  During  the  time 
of  Mr.  Chichester's  frequent  visits  to  her  father's 
house,  Walter  had  held  still  more  aloof,  but  he  had 
lately  received  a  hint  from  his  mother  that  Mrs. 
Grant  had  told  her,  in  confidence,  that  there  was  no 
affection  existing  toward  Mr.  Chich  ester,  on  Bea- 
trice's part,  and  he  therefore  felt  again  encouraged 
to  hope  for  the  best.  Walter  was  not  one  of  those 
miserably  weak-minded  young  men,  who  can  be 
engaged  to  different  girls  several  times  in  the  course 
of  their  bachelor  lives,  and  have  these  engagements 
broken  off  without  any  effect  on  their  spirits  -3  the 


A  CHEISTIAN  YOUTH.  73 

mere  passing  admiration  having  certainly  taken  no 
hold  on  their  hearts  —  if  they  have  such  things  as 
hearts  at  all.  A  man  who  can  love  so  lightly  and 
so  frequently,  never  loves  strongly  and  devotedly  — 
and  Walter  was  nono  of  these.  He  bestowed  his 
affection  and  admiration  carefully,  and  it  was  be- 
cause he  placed  before  his  mind  such  a  high  stand- 
ard of  excellence  that  few  characters  could  win  his 
love.  It  was  not  that  he  was  cold  or  unimpassioned. 
No !  he  had  a  depth  of  earnest  love  in  his  heart, 
tlidt  triflcrs,  who  have  been  corrupted  by  the  world 
and  its  ways,  can  never  dream  of;  but  he  formed  to 
himself  an  ideal  image  of  the  woman  he  could 
thoroughly  love,  and  till  this  ideal  should  be  embod- 
ied, his  heart  could  not  be  given.  Walter  was  a 
Christian  young  man,  in  the  true  sense  of  that  word. 
He  was  not  one  of  those  who  think  that  youth  is 
the  time  to  give  free  vent  to  every  sinful  passion,  and 
to  plunge  into  every  excess  of  pleasure ;  that  young 
men  must  be  young  men,  and  "  sow  their  wild  oats." 
Hollow-hearted  falsehood  and  specious  lies!  He 
knew  that  God  formed  no  man  under  the  necessity 
of  sinning ;  and  his  soul  recoiled  from  participating 
in  the  sinful  (so-called)  pleasures  which  led  astray 
so  many  of  his  fellow-students  at  the  college.  He 
knew  and  felt  that  a  sin,  though  it  may  be  forgiven 
by  God,  can  never,  in  one  sense,  be  forgotten  ;  and 
that  the  mind  that  has  been  vitiated  and  polluted 

:•'" 


74  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

can  never  shake  itself  as  clean  and  clear  again,  in 
this  life,  as  though  it  had  never  been  defiled.  If 
Walter  ever  got  laughed  at  by  his  companions,  and 
called  a  "miff,"  and  a  "  slow  fellow,"  for  not  joining 
a  drinking  or  card  party,  he  was  too  much  of  a  true 
hero  to  let  idle  jeers  influence  his  conduct ;  and  he 
was  so  lively  and  good-humored,  and  so  generous 
and  kind  in  his  disposition,  that  even  the  worst  of 
them  were  generally  compelled,  before  long,  to  ac- 
knowledge that  "Walter  Grey  was  not  such  a  bad 
feUow,  after  all." 

Perhaps  Walter  was  already  aware  that  Beatrice 
approached  more  nearly  to  his  ideal,  than  any  one 
else  he  knew ;  and  such  a  character  as  his  was  just 
calculated  to  win  her  esteem  and  admiration,  but  he 
had  not  yet  sought  her  as  a  lover,  and  she  thought 
of  him  only  as  a  friend. 

Perhaps  it  may  appear  strange  that  Walter  should 
not  have  made  choice  of  his  father's  profession — that 
of  a  minister ;  but  to  say  the  truth,  he  wished  to 
bind  himself  to  no  party,  which  he  thought  would 
be  involved  by  becoming  a  minister  among  any 
particular  denomination.  He  thought  that  there  were 
some  errors  existing  among  all  parties  and  sects,  and 
whether  a  man  were  an  Episcopalian,  a  Baptist,  a 
Methodist,  or  a  Presbyterian,  it  mattered  not,  Wal- 
ter thought,  so  long  as  he  was  a  Bible  Christian  — - 
one  who  knew  the  Saviour,  and  was  united  to  him 


THE  FEVER.  75 

in  the  common  brotherhood  of  Christian  fellowship. 
After  maturely  considering  these  subjects,  young 
Grey  decided  on  studying  physic,  as  being  a  useful 
and  philanthropic  occupation,  and  also  as  affording 
him  abundant  opportunities,  while  attending  the 
bedside  of  the  sick  and  dying,  to  administer  likewise 
to  their  spiritual  necessities  and  to  point  the  heart, 
trembling  and  impressible  from  sickness,  to  the 
Redeemer  of  mankind  and  the  Father  of  mercy. 
He  had  not,  as  yet,  quite  finished  his  academical 
career,  but  when  he  should  have  completed  it,  he 
hoped  to  obtain  a  sphere  of  usefulness  in  a  small 
village,  about  twenty  miles  from  the  city  of  Hart- 
ford, where  some  friends  of  his  mother  resided, 
and  which  had  lately  been  pointed  out  to  him  as 
greatly  in  want  of  efficient  medical  assistance,  and 
as,  therefore,  presenting  a  promising  opening  for  a 
beginner. 

But  we  have  made  a  long  digression  for  the  pur- 
pose of  introducing  our  friend  Walter  to  our  readers, 
and  we  must  not  forget  that  we  left  Beatrice  Evelyn 
anxiously  awaiting  the  entrance  of  the  doctor  to 
report  upon  the  state  of  her  father's  health. 

When  he  did  come,  the  account  was  unsatisfac- 
tory. The  symptoms  were  bad,  and  the  doctor  said 
he  should  call  again  at  noon.  Ere  that  hour,  how- 
ever, Mr.  Evelyn  wTas  delirious  with  fever,  and  kept 

calling  for  Beatrice  to  come  to  him,  though  she  was 

7 


76  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

at  that  time  sitting  by  him,  mute  with  grief.  Mrs. 
Grant,  too,  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  willing  in- 
deed, but  unable  to  render  any  assistance. 

After  some  time  passed  in  silence,  broken  only 
by  the  voice  of  the  sufferer,  Beatrice  sank  down  on 
her  knees  in  pra}7er  by  the  bedside,  and  then  rising 
and  forcing  herself  to  be  calm,  she  said: 

"Aunt,  something  must  be  done;  do  pray  let  us 
rouse  ourselves  and  try  and  act,  and  not  give  way 
under  this  affliction,  which  our  Heavenly  Father 
has  seen  fit  to  send  us.  It  is  quite  impossible  that 
we  can  allow  Mrs.  Grey  to  be  burdened  any  longer 
with  so  many  additional  inmates.  There  are  the  two 
servant-girls  and  Socrates  in  the  kitchen,  and  then 
ourselves  and  little  Blanche,  beside  dear  Papa.  It 
must  not  be  permitted  for  a  single  night.  She  is  so 
kind  that  1  know  she  will  never  say  a  word  till  we 
mention  it;  do,  Aunt,  try  and  propose  some  plan." 

"  Really,  Beatrice,  I  feel  quite  incapable  of  think- 
ing," replied  Mrs.  Grant,  in  an  agitated  tone,  "my 
nerves  are  in  such  a  distressing  state  from  the  fire 
last  night,  and  now  seeing  my  dear  brother  lying 
there  so  ill.  Propose  a  plan  yourself,  dear  child; 
you  have  less  sensitiveness  than  I." 

Beatrice's  lip  quivered  with  emotion,  as  she 
thought  how  little  her  Aunt  understood  her,  but 
after  pausing  a  moment  or  so  she  said,  calmly:  "I 
think,  Aunt,  you  should  immediately  take  a  small 


TEMPORARY  HOME.  77 

furnished  house  as  near  this  as  possible,  and  go  there 
yourself,  with  Blanche  and  the  servants.  Of  course 
moving  dear  Papa  is  quite  out  of  the  question,  so  I 
will  remain  here  and  nurse  him,  for  I  could  not  pos- 
sibly leave  his  side  now,  and  you  will  come  and  see 
him  as  often  as  you  can." 

Mrs.  Grant  acquiesced  in  this  arrangement,  and 
it  was  further  decided  that  Hetty  should  be  sent  for 
from  school,  as  she  would  be  wanted  in  a  thousand 
ways,  and  among  others  to  take  charge  of  Blanche, 
who,  Beatrice  knew,  would  be  quite  alarmed  afc  the 
thought  of  being  left  alone  with  Mrs.  Grant. 

"If  you  will  remain  here  with  poor  Papa,  Aunt," 
said  Beatrice,  "  I  will  go  down  stairs  and  tell  Mrs. 
Grey  of  our  plan." 

As  Beatrice  had  conjectured,  Mrs.  Grey  at  first 
remonstrated  against  the  separation  of  the  party,  at 
least  for  the  present,  but  she  was  finally  prevailed 
on  to  consent,  and  Walter,  who  just  then  came  into 
the  room,  volunteered  to  go  in  search  of  suitable 
lodgings. 

While  he  was  gone,  Dr.  Morton  arrived,  and 
Beatrice's  fears  were  somewhat  allayed  by  his  pro 
nouncing  her  father  to  be  in  no  immediate  danger. 

After  about  an  hour  Walter  Grey  came  back, 
having  been  successful  in  his  search  for  a  house, 
and  before  dusk,  Mrs,  Grant  and  the  rest  of  the 


78  GBEATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

party  were  safely  installed  there,  with  such  effects 
as  had  been  preserved  from  the  fire. 

Beatrice  was  sitting  quietly  by  her  father's  bedside, 
in  the  afternoon,  when  Walter  softly  rapped  at  the 
roorn-door.  She  went  to  open  it.  "  Miss  Evelyn," 
said  he,  "  President  and  the  phaeton  were  sent  up  to 
a  livery  stable,  about  a  square  from  here,  last  night, 
as  soon  as  they  could  be  rescued  from  the  stable ; 
do  you  not  think  it  would  be  a  good  plan  if  I  were 
to  go  in  the  phaeton  and  fetch  your  sister  Hetty  ?  — 
I  am  sure  she  will  be  gladly  welcomed  in  Curzon 
street  by  one  party  at  least,  for  I  left  little  Blanche 
looking  very  tearful  at  being  separated  from  you." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Grey,  you  are  only  too  kind," 
said  Beatrice,  "  1  should  indeed  feel  very  grateful 
if  you  would  go  for  dear  Hetty :  and  pray  break  to 
her  all  that  has  happened  as  gently  as  possible.  Poor 
child !  she  will  be  so  grieved.  And  tell  her,  Mr. 
Grey,  to  bring  a  good  supply  of  clothes  with  her ;  it 
does  not  saein  likely  that  she  will  be  able  to  go  back 
to  school  again  at  present.  But  stay :  perhaps  I 
had  better  write  her  a  note." 

"  I  am  sure  that  is  not  necessary,"  said  Walter ; 
"  I  feel  that  I  can  tell  her  all  you  wish  ;  and  if  I  go 
directly  I  shall  be  back  before  dark." 

"  This  house  will  be  on  your  way  from  the  school 
to  Curzon  street,"  said  Beatrice;  "stop  on  your 


'S  JOUKNEY.  79 

return,  please,  and  let  me  say  a  few  words  to  dear 
Hetty." 

"•'Anything  and  everything  you  wish,"  replied 
"Walter,  "  I  only  wish  there  were  something  else  you 
could  tell  me  to  do  for  you.  God  bless  you,  dear 
Miss  Evelyn ;"  and  taking  her  hand,  he  pressed  it 
respectfully  to  his  lips,  and  without  venturing  an- 
other look,  he  turned  and  ran  down  stairs,  and  Bea- 
trice heard  him  shut  the  hall-door  almost  immedi- 
ately afterward . 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Ola. !  weary  hearts  !  oh,  slumbering  eyes  I 
Oh !  drooping  souls,  whose  destinies 
Are  fraught  with  care  and  pain, 
Ye  shall  be  lov'd  again." — LONGFELLOW. 

"  There  is  a  fragrant  blossom,  that  maketh  glad  the  garden  of  the 
heart.  *  *  * 

"  Memory  and  absence  cherish  it,  as  the  balmy  breathings  of  the 
South. 

"  Its  sun  is  the  brightness  of  affection  and  it  bloometh  in  the  bor- 
ders of  Hope."— TUPPEE'S  "  PBOVEKBIAL  PHILOSOPHY." 

THE  days  passed  wearily  and  heavily  along,  and 
still  there  was  but  little  amendment  in  Mr.  Evelyn's 
health.  On  the  third  day  of  his  illness,  however, 
the  fever  comparatively  left  him  and  he  again  knew 
those  around  him ;  but  he  was  in  a  pitiable  state  of 
weakness,  and  was  suffering  great  pain  in  his  chest 
and  throat.  Beatrice's  spirits  drooped,  and  yet  she 
showed  it  as  little  as  possible  before  the  kind  friends 
by  whom  she  was  surrounded.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grey 
were  untiringly  attentive  and  thoughtful,  and  when- 
ever Walter  had  an  opportunity,  he  was  on  the  alert 
to  do  anything  that  might  promote  her  comfort ;  two 
nights  he  sat  up  with  Mr.  Evelyn,  his  mother 

(80) 


ME.  EVELYN'S  RECOVERY.  81 

insisting  upon  Beatrice's  going  regularly  to  bed, 
assuring  her  that  she  would  make  herself  seriously 
ill  if  she  did  not  do  so.  Mrs.  Grant  and  Hetty  came 
every  day  to  see  them ;  they  seemed  to  be  going  on 
tolerably  comfortably  in  the  new  house.  They  had 
dismissed  one  of  the  servant-girls  —  Jane  and  So 
crates  being  sufficient  to  attend  on  so  small  a  party. 

At  the  end  of  ten  days,  Dr.  Morton  pronounced 
Mr.  Evelyn  decidedly  better,  and  in  a  short  time  he 
was  able  to  sit  up ;  still  a  hard,  hacking  cough  hung 
about  him,  and  the  doctor  said  it  would  never  do  for 
him  to  spend  the  winter  in  New  York,  but  that  he 
must  go  to  a  warmer  climate,  when  he  should  be 
strong  enough  to  bear  the  journey.  The  first  even- 
ing that  her  father  was  well  enough  to  come  down 
stairs  and  sit  in  an  easy-chair  by  the  drawing-room 
fire,  was  a  happy  one  for  Beatrice.  She  drew  a  low 
ottoman  and  sat  down  at  his  feet — 'Mr.  Grey  read 
aloud  to  them  while  his  wife  sat  and  worked,  and 
"Walter  sat  at  a  small  table  near  the  window,  copying 
some  anatomical  drawings. 

"When  Mr.  Grey  had  finished  reading,  Mr.  Evelyn 
said  that  an  idea  had  crossed  his  mind  that  morning 
•which  he  wished  to  subject  to  the  vote  of  his  assem- 
bled friends. 

"  You  know,"  he  continued, "  that  the  little  French 
girl,  Blanche  de  Tremonille  is  only  awaiting  an 
escort  to  be  sent  home  to  her  aunt  at  St.  Thomas. 


82  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

Now,  conld  not  my  sojourn  in  a  warm  climate  be 
passed  there,  and  thus  both  purposes  be  answered  2 
I  think  I  should  enjoy  the  trip,  and  I  never  suffer 
much  from  sea-sickness.' 

"Well!  papa,"  said  Beatrice,  "I  have  only  one 
stipulation  to  make,  and  that  is,  that  I  go  with  you ; 
of  course,  you  know  I  must  go,  to  take  care  both  of 
you  and  Blanche." 

"  Well !  my  bonny  Bee,  but  what  do  our  friends 
think  of  the  place?" 

"  I  think,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  Grey,  "that  if 
you  must  leave  us,  the  plan  is  an  excellent  one.  I 
have  heard  that  the  climate  in  the  high  lands  of  the 
island  is  not  disagreeably  hot.  and  please  God,  we 
shall  hope  to  see  you  among  us  all  in  the  spring, 
looking  yourself  again." 

A  shade  of  disappointment  passed  over  Walters 
face  at  the  idea  of  Beatrice's  departure ;  he  felt  as  if 
he  were  now  going  to  lose  her  altogether,  and  dur- 
ing the  next  few  minutes  of  conversation  among  the 
rest  of  the  party,  his  thoughts  were  busily  engaged 
in  trying  to  discover  a  suitable  way  of  saying  some- 
thing to  Beatrice  on  the  subject.  Well,  it  was 
finally  arranged,  that  they  should  sail  in  one  week's 
time,  should  Mr.  Evelyn's  strength  permit  it  —  that 
Mrs.  Grant  should  keep  house  with  Hetty  till  their 
return,  the  latter  being  taken  away  from  school,  at 
least  for  the  present.  Hetty  was  not  very  well 


THE  BRIGANTINE.  83 

pleased  when  she  was  told,  next  day,  of  this  arrange- 
ment, but  Mrs.  Grey  comforted  her  by  telling  her 
that  she  must  come  and  see  her  every  day,  and  that 
she  would  often  take  her  nice  walks  to  see  her  poor 
people,  etc.,  and  Hetty  declared  she  should  write  an 
immensely  long  letter  to  Beatrice  every  week,  and 
tell  her  all  her  thoughts  and  doings. 

Two  comfortable  cabins,  adjoining  each  other, 
were  taken  for  the  party,  in  a  pretty  little  brigan- 
tine,  bound  for  St.  Thomas,  with  a  cargo  of  shingles, 
which  was  to  sail  in  nine  days.  One  of  these  cabins 
contained  two  berths,  which  were  for  Beatrice  and 
little  Blanche,  and  it  was  arranged  that  Beatrice 
should  go  down,  the  following  day,  with  Mrs.  Grey 
and  Walter  to  inspect  their  accommodation.  Mr. 
Grey  also  volunteered  to  be  of  the  party,  so  about 
ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  they  all  set  off.  A  good 
part  of  the  way  lay  through  crowded  wharves,  and 
very  bustling  streets,  so  that,  although  Walter  was 
walking  with  Beatrice,  he  could  find  but  little  op- 
portunity of  speaking  to  her. 

A  boat  came  off  to  take  them  all  on  board,  and 
the  day  was  so  fine  and  clear  that  they  remained 
there  some  time,  inspecting  the  ship,  which  was 
found  to  be  in  all  respects  what  could  be  wished, 
and  they  much  enjoyed  the  delightful  prospect 
which  lay  before  them.  The  harbor  was  studded 
with  ships  of  all  nations,  and  a  perfect  forest  of 


84:  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

masts  lay  close  to  the  shore.  "Walter  was  leaning 
over  the  side  of  the  vessel  with  Beatrice,  occasion- 
ally addressing  a  few  words  of  conversation  to  her. 
Anxious  thoughts  of  "now  or  never"  filled  his 
breast ;  he  wanted  to  say  something,  and  yet  he  felt 
as  though  he  were  hardly  confident  enough  respect- 
'  ing  her  feelings  toward  him  to  say  too  much.  He 
raised  himself  and  walked  slowly  two  or  three  times 
up  and  down  the  deck,  and  then  again  approaching 
Beatrice,  he  said : — 

"Do  you  know,  Miss  Evelyn,  I  have  quite  a  spite 
against  this  ship  ?" 

"Have  you?"  replied  Beatrice,  smiling,  "  I  think 
it  is  a  very  pretty  one." 

"  Yes,  but  it  will  soon  take  you  so  far  away  from 
us,  and  we  shall  feel  so  very  lonely  without  you  ! 
you  do  not  know  how  lonely." 

Beatrice,  still  leaning  over  the  side  of  the  vessel, 
made  no  reply.  She  looked  down  at  the  clear  blue, 
water,  which  came  rippling  softly  against  the  sides 
of  the  ship,  and  she  felt  that  she  too  was  sorry  to 
part  from  "Walter  Grey,  but  she  did  not  exactly 
know  how  to  tell  him  so. 

"  Miss  Evelyn,"  said  Walter,  "might  I  ask  you  to 
think  of  me  sometimes,  when  you  are  away  ?  It 
would  be  such  a  comfort  to  me  to  know  that  I  was 
not  forgotten  by  you  ?" 

"  Then  you  shall  have  that  comfort,  if  it  is  any," 


WALTER  AND  BEATRICE.  85 

said  Beatrice,  blushing  slightly,  "  you  have  been  so 
kind,  both  to  dear  Papa  and  myself,  that  I  cannot 
easily  forget  you." 

"Kind!"  said  Walter,  in  a  low  voice,  "if  you 
only  knew  the  pleasure  it  has  been  to  me  even  to  be 
near  you !  I  have  wished  I  could  spend  my  whole 
life  in  your  service  !" 

"  You  must  devote  your  life  to  God's  service  and 
not  mine,  Walter,"  said  Beatrice,  gently. 

"But  will  you  —  oh,  could  you  !  — promise  me  to 
be  my  help  and  friend — my  companion  through  life  ?" 
said  Walter,  earnestly,  and  he  bent  toward  her,  and 
took  her  hand  in  his. 

Beatrice  made  no  reply  for  some  time,  tyit  stood 
averting  her  face  and  gazing  down  at  the  sea.  At 
last  she  said : 

"  1  must  devote  myself  to  dear  Papa  now  —  I 
cannot  tell  if  I  may  ever  come  back  again  to  Amer- 
ica. But,  Walter,  I  will  be  no  one  else's  but  your's, 
should  God  spare  our  lives  to  see  each  other  again." 

"  My  own  Beatrice,  God  bless  you  for  this,"  said 
Walter;  "may  our  Heavenly  Father  send  His  bless- 
ing upon  us  both,  and  keep  you  safe  to  return  to  me 
again." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grey  just  then  came  up  from  tho 
cabin,  and  they  all  returned  on  shore.     That  even- 
ing Beatrice  told  her  father  of  Walter's  proposal^ 
and  asked  his  blessing  on  their  engagement. 
6 


86  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"My  child,"  said  Mr.  Evelyn,  "I  thank  the  Lord 
for  it  with  my  whole  heart.  Walter  Grey  has  long 
had  my  sincere  affection  and  esteem.  He  is  an 
excellent  young  man,  and  I  know,  my  darling,  that 
he  will  make  you  a  kind  husband.  You  will  now 
have  a  protector,  in  case  I  should  be  taken  away 
from  you,  and  the  thought  of  what  you  and  my  little 
Hetty  would  do,  if  I  were  gone,  has  often  been  a 
burden  on  my  mind  during  my  hours  of  sickness ; 
but  I  cast  my  care  on  my  Heavenly  Father,  and  He 
has  taken  it  from  me.  Promise  me,  my  Bee,  that 
you  will  always  fill  a  mother's  place  to  your  little 
sister." 

"  Indeed  I  will,  dear  Papa,"  said  Beatrice,  throw- 
ing her  arms  round  her  father's  neck  ;  "  but  do  not 
talk  in  that  way ;  we  all  hope  to  see  you  quite  well 
and  strong  again,  after  you  have  been  to  the  sunny 
land.  Do  not  let  us  prognosticate  evil  unnecessari- 
ly ;  it  makes  me  feel  so  unhappy.  O  !  I  could  not 
spare  my  own  Papa !"  she  continued,  laying  her 
cheek  fondly  against  his. 

"  Well,  my  Bee,  I  am  certainly  much  better,  and 
I  would  not  willingly  distress  you,  my  child ;  but 
we  must  be  prepared,  whenever  the  messenger  shall 
come,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  Papa,"  was  her  reply ;  and  gazing  fondly 
at  him,  she  sighed,  as  she  thought  there  might  1", 
even  a  possibility  of  his  words  coming  true. 


THE  YOTAGE.  87 

"I  wish  yon  would  go  to  Curzon -street  early  to- 
morrow morning,"  said  Mr.  Evelyn,  "  and  tell  yonr 
aunt  Louisa  I  shall  be  glad  to  speak  with  her  as  soon 
as  she  can  conveniently  come  over.  And  now  you 
must  use  all  the  expedition  you  can,  for  you  must 
have  many  things  to  get  ready  for  Blanche  and 
yourself.  And  you  must  look  after  my  traps  this 
time,  dear  one,"  said  he,  smiling ;  "I  will  draw  on 
my  bankers  for  any  sum  you  may  require." 

Beatrice  named  the  amount  she  thought  sufficient, 
and  during  the  next  few  days  she  had  but  few  leisure 
moments,  but  we  may  be  sure  our  friend  "Walter  did 
not  fail  to  find  out  when  these  occurred. 

It  was  on  the  afternoon  of  the  first  of  November 
that  they  set  sail  for  the  West  Indies,  and  left 
America's  shores  behind  them.  Blanche  shed  many 
tears  at  leaving  Hetty,  but  told  her  that  she  should 
send  her  some  beautiful  things  back  from  the  "West 
Indies  by  Beatrice.  "Walter  had  busied  himself 
with  putting  such  little  comforts  as  he  could  devise 
into  Beatrice's  cabin  —  among  other  things  a  ship- 
lamp,  and  a  piece  of  matting  for  the  floor,  and  also 
a  few  entertaining  books  to  beguile  the  weary  hours 
of  sea-sickness.  It  was  a  hard  trial  to  him  to  part 
with  Beatrice  now,  and  yet  he  felt  that  it  was  an 
unlooked  -for  happiness  to  have  been  assured  of  her 
love  before  she  left.  He  determined  to  nerve  him- 
self to  wait  in  patient  faith  and  hope,  trusting  that 


SS  GREATNESS  m  LITTLE  THINGS. 

God  would  "  make  all  things  work  together  for  their 
good" — and  ere  Beatrice  bade  him  farewell,  he  ob- 
tained a  promise  from  her  that  she  would  correspond 
with  him  regularly. 

The  first  few  days  of  their  voyage  were  wretched 
enough,  at  least  to  Beatrice,  who  suffered  very  much 
from  sea-sickness,  the  horrors  of  which  can  only  be 
understood  by  those  who  have  experienced  it. 

Mr.  Evelyn  was  tolerably  well,  and  Beatrice  was 
very  thankful  for  this,  as  she  almost  blamed  herself 
for  not  being  able  to  bestow  more  attention  on  him. 
Blanche,  however,  supplied  her  place  as  well  as  she 
could,  having  been  but  very  slightly  ill.  Her  lively 
manner  made  her  a  general  favorite  with  the  sailors, 
and  wrapped  up  in  a  warm  pelisse,  the  child  would 
often  pass  hours  upon  deck,  watching  the  men  mend- 
ing old  sails  or  making  other  repairs,  while  they  gave 
her  such  information  as  they  had  picked  up  in  the 
course  of  a  seafaring  life.  Her  imperfect  English, 
too,  amused  them,  although  it  made  her  scarcely 
less  voluble.  It  was  curious  and  pleasant  to  feel  the 
gradual  increase  of  temperature  as  they  moved 
Southward,  and  long  before  they  reached  their  des- 
tination, they  were  glad  to  exchange  their  plaids 
and  furs  for  cooler  garments. 

The  soft  warm  breezes  seemed  to  revive  Mr. 
Evelyn,  and  sitting  in  an  easy-chair  on  the  deck,  he 
passed  many  pleasant  hours  gazing  at  the  glorious 


ST.  THOMAS.  89 

sea,  or  at  evening-time  watching  the  bright  sun 
setting  beneath  its  waters  in  the  West. 

They  had  an  unusually  favorable  passage  for  the 
time  of  year,  and  after  Beatrice  recovered  from  the 
sickness,  she  enjoyed  it  exceedingly. 

It  was  on  the  evening  of  the  24th  of  November 
that  the  vessel  anchored  ofl'  the  beautiful  island  of 
St.  Thomas.  The  town  is  built,  as  it  were,  in  the 
form  of  three  open  parasols, — the  houses  ascending 
gradually  from  the  valley  up  the  sides  of  the  steep 
hills,  which  form  the  back-ground  of  the  view  from 
the  sea.  It  belongs  to  the  Danish  government,  and 
the  fort  presents  a  prominent  object  on  the  right 
hand  of  the  picture — here  dull  looking  soldiers 
marched  about  in  blue  uniform.  The  streets  are  lined 
with  stores  belonging  to  merchants  of  almost  every 
nation  under  heaven — Spanish,  Portuguese,  English, 
French,  Jews,  "West  India-creoles,  Danes  and  Turks, 
are  among  some  of  them.  The  first  thing  that  struck 
Beatrice,  on  their  approaching  the  island,  was  the 
exquisite  perfume  of  the  oleanders,  which  adorn  the 
gardens  in  profusion.  The  sweet  odor  was  wafted 
far  out  to  sea  by  the  evening  land-breeze,  and  it  re- 
sembled exactly  the  scent  of  the  heliotrope. 

It  was  not  .too  late  in  the  day  to  land,  so  one  of 
the  ship's  boats  conveyed  them  and  their  luggage  on 
shore.  Arriving  there,  a  crowd  of  negroes  imme- 
diately surrounded  them  and  began  vociferously 


90  GKEATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

demanding  to  be  employed  as  porters  to  take  the 
boxes  and  portmanteau  to  the  hotel.  Selecting  a 
couple  of  them,  Mr.  Evelyn  bade  them  go  on  before 
and  shpw  them  the  way  to  the  best  hotel. 

"Hi!  Massa,"  said  one  of  them,  grinning  from 
ear  to  ear,  "  me  show  you  him  for  true,  sah !  Massa 
Da  Costa  inn  be  good  one,  berry  good,  massa,  ebery 
t'ing  fine  too  much  there." 

The  road  from  the  shore  led  up  a  gentle  slope, 
with  cocoa-nut  trees  overshadowing  it  on  either  side. 
Beatrice's  heart  bounded  with  delight  as  she  felt 
that  she  was  now  really  in  the  tropics,  and  she  gazed 
around  her,  highly  amused  and  interested  in  all  she 
saw.  Crowds  of  negroes  were  walking  or  lounging 
about:  those  who  were  carrying  anything,  invari- 
ably placing  their  burden  on  their  head,  however 
large  and  unsuitable  it  might  appear  for  such  a  posi- 
tion. Their  gay  cotton  dresses,  and  the  bright- 
colored  handkerchiefs  tied  round  their  heads,  also 
added  greatly  to  the  picturesque  effect. 

Blanche  acted  as  show- woman,  and  began  eagerly 
explaining  all  she  could  to  Beatrice,  while  the  latter 
entered  into  her  feelings  of  admiration,  with  all  the 
enthusiasm  she  could  desire.  As  they  went  along, 
Blanche  pointed  out  different  stores  which  she  re- 
membered having  been  to  with  her  aunt. 

They  soon,  however,  arrived  at  the  hotel,  and  were 
shown  into  a  very  tolerable  sitting-room,  though  at 


MADAME  DE  TREMONILLE.  91 

first  it  looked  rather  comfortless  to  Beatrice's  ideas, 
with  its  carpetless  pine  floors,  rubbed  as  bright  as 
possible,  with  here  and  there  a  few  pieces  of  matting 
laid  about.  There  were  green  jalousies  to  all  the 
windows,  but  the  walls  were  bare,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  few  prints  hung  about.  There  was,  for- 
tunately, a  sofa,  on  which  Mr.  Evelyn  was  glad  to 
lie  down  and  rest,  for  he  was  still  very  weak,  and 
he  then  told  Beatrice  that  she  had  better  write  a  note 
to  Madame  de  Tremonille  and  tell  her  of  their  arri- 
val, that  she  might  send  to  fetch  them  as  soon  as 
possible.  The  writing  materials  were  in  one  of  the 
boxes  down  stairs,  and  Blanche  was  dispatched  to 
get  one  of  the  colored  waiters  to  bring  this  up.  The 
note  was  soon  written  and  a  messenger  found  to 
whom  strict  injunctions  were  given  to  be  expedi- 
tious, for  they  were  anxious  to  reach  their  destina- 
tion before  nightfall ;  and  this  the  nonchalant,  free- 
and-easy  air  of  the  bearer  seemed  to  render  doubtful. 
Being  promised  a  reward,  however,  in  proportion  to 
his  speed,  he  set  off  pretty  quickly,  and  they  sat 
patiently  down  to  await  the  answer. 

Madame  de  Tremonille's  house  was  fully  three 
miles  from  the  town,  so  that  it  was  two  hours  before 
they  saw  her  carriage  drive  up  to  the  inn  door.  It 
was  now  quite  dusk,  but  the  evening  was  most  de- 
lightful, and  the  carriage  holding  four  comfortably, 
Madame  de  Tremonille  had  come  to  fetch  them 


93  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

herself— being  anxious  again  to  embrace  her  little 
Blanche, — her  adopted  child.  The  latter  rushed  out 
of  the  room  to  meet  her  aunt  as  soon  as  she  heard 
her  footstep  on  the  stairs,  and  in  a  moment  they  were 
locked  in  each  other's  arms. 

"Ah!  ma  Blanche!  ma  chere,  chere  petite,  que 
je  suis  ravie  de  te  revoir !"  said  her  aunt,  fondly 
kissing  her. 

"I  can  speak  English,  too,  now,  aunty,"  said 
Blanche.  "Oh,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you!  but 
come  quickly  and  see  my  dear  papa  Evelyn  and  my 
darling  Beatrice!"  . 

So  saying,  she  seized  her  aunt  by  the  hand  and 
dragged  her  somewhat  unceremoniously  into  the 
room.  Mr.  Evelyn  and  Beatrice  rose  to  meet  Ma- 
dame de  Tremonille,  and  were  mutually  struck  with 
her  very  pleasing  appearance.  She  was,  of  course, 
dressed  in  deep  mourning  for  her  late  husband  ;  her 
features  were  soft  and  regular,  and  such  of  her  fair 
hair  as  was  allowed  to  appear  beneath  her  close 
widow's  cap,  plainly  bespoke  her  Saxon  origin.  She 
was,  indeed',  of  English  parentage ;  her  father  was 
a  minister  of  the  Gospel,  and  he  had  only  resided  in 
the  island  about  a  year,  when  his  daughter,  Isabelle, 
married  Monsieur  de  Tremonille,  a  French  merchant 
of  noble  extraction,  some  six  years  ago.  She  was 
still  young,  apparently  not  more  than  thirty,  and 
having  been  left  in  very  comfortable  circumstances 


THE  INTEKVIEW.  93 

by  her  husband,  and  having  no  children  of  her  own, 
she  resolved  on  adopting  the  little  orphan  daughter 
of  her  brother. 

There  was  a  peculiarly  sweet  expression  of  chas 
tened  sorrow  in  her  lovely  countenance,  which  made 
Beatrice's  heart  warm  toward  her  from  the  first. 
Advancing,  she  warmly  thanked  Mr.  Evelyn  for  his 
kindness  to  Blanche,  saying  she  could  never  suffi- 
ciently express  her  gratitude  to  him  for  restoring 
her  safe  and  well,  to  be  the  comfort  of  her  widowed 
heart. 

"  My  dear  Madam,"  said  Mr.  Evelyn,  "  I  assure 
you  the  benefit  has  been  ours.  This  little  one  has 
made  our  New  York  home  quite  lively,  and  my 
daughter  was  as  delighted  as,  possible  to  have  her 
with  her.  Beside,  I  was  ordered  by  my  physician  to 
take  a  trip  southward  for  my  health,  which  has  been 
somewhat  delicate  of  late — so  you  see  that  bringing 
her  here  personally,  was  not  even  the  slightest  in- 
convenience to  me." 

"  Well !  I  hope  I  shall  have  a  long  time  now  to 
enjoy  your  society  and  show  you,  as  well  as  I  can, 
how  grateful  I  feel,"  replied  Madame  de  Treinon- 
ille,  "  I  shall  not  let  you  leave  my  West  Indian 
mountain  home  for  a  long  time,  and  I  hope  soon  to 
see  you  restored  to  health,  under  rny  care.  But 
come,  do  not  let  us  delay  here  any  longer,  I  am 
impatient  to  see  you  all  safe  at  home.  Come,  my 


94  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

darling  Blanche,  take  hold  of  my  hand,  you  know  I 
ain  to  be  your  Mamma  now." 

"  People  seem  able  to  have  several  Mammas  and 
Papas,"  said  Blanche,  "  I  am  sure  it  is  a  very  nice 
thing !  God  is  very  good  to  me,  for  He  sends  me 
new  ones  whenever  I  want  them." 

"  He  will  always  be  your  friend,  my  little  one," 
said  her  Aunt,  "  if  you  love  Him  and  trust  in  Him : 
He  will  raise  up  some  kind  friend  for  each  of  us 
when  He  takes  any  dear  one  away" — and  at  these 
words  the  thought  of  her  own  deep  and  irreparable 
loss  filled  her  eyes  with  tears,  and  she  thought  again, 
even  as  she  spoke,  that  no  earthly  friend  could  fill 
to  her  the  place  of  him  who  was  gone,  and  a  sicken- 
ing feeling,  almost  of  agony,  shot  through  her  heart, 
as  she  for  a  moment  dwelt  on  that  bitterest  of  all 
earthly  griefe  to  a  woman  —  the  loss  of  a  beloved 
husband.  Oh !  I  have  often,  dear  reader,  when  I 
have  perchance  passed  in  the  street  a  gentlewoman 
in  the  garb  of  widowhood,  experienced  a  mingled 
feeling  of  pity  and  respect  for  her,  in  thinking  of  her 
loss.  It  must  be  so  very,  very  bitter  to  a  woman's 
heart  to  part  with  him  to  whom  she  has  given  her 
early  love — the  spring-time  of  her  affections.  God 
help  and  pity  the  widow;  and  He  alone  can  and  will 
do  it,  for  has  He  not  promised  to  be  "  a  God  unto 
the  widow."  The  comfortable  and  easy  carriage 
bore  the  party  rapidly  along  to  their  destination. 


PALM  HILL.  95 

The  night  being  dark,  they  had  lamps  Lghted  all  the 
way,  as  in  some  parts  the  road  was  rough  and  pre- 
cipitous. The  fire-flies  were  dancing  about  right 
merrily,  and  Beatrice  sat  looking  around  her  in 
silent  ecstasy,  too  full  of  admiring  wonder  and  too 
much  influenced  by  the  soothing  balm  of  the  soft 
air,  to  be  inclined  for  much  conversation. 

In  some  places,  where  their  road  lay  up  a  hilly 
ascent,  and  the  declining  ground  on  either  hand 
formed  a  valley  beneath  them,  the  swarms  of  fire- 
flies produced  a  most  dazzling  effect;  one  might 
imagine  a  brilliant  illumination  of  fairy  lamps ;  or 
that  the  sky  had  fallen  on  the  ground  inverted,  and 
that  the  stars  were  shining  below.  The  hum  of 
countless  insects  was  heard  on  all  sides,  and  the  per- 
fume of  sweet  flowers  came  wafted  with  the  evening 
breeze. 

As  they  drove  up  to  Madame  de  Tremonille's 
house,  it  was,  of  course,  too  dark  to  discern  sur- 
rounding objects  plainly,  but  there  were  lights  burn- 
ing in  several  windows,  and  a  negro  servant  standing 
in  the  porch  with  a  lighted  candle,  to  receive  them, 
which  as  they  drove  up,  enabled  our  travelers  to  seo 
that  it  was  a  long  building  of  only  one  story,  but  ex 
tending  over  a  considerable  extent  of  ground,  and 
with  a  latticed  veranda  in  front,  covered  with  all 
kinds  of  luxuriant  creepers. 


96  GREATNESS  is  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"Here  we  are,  at  last,"  said  Madame  de  Tremon- 
ille.  *'  Well !  Pomio,  so  yon  were  expecting  us,  I  see," 
continued  she,  as  she  alighted  from  the  carriage. 

"  Yes !  Missis,  me  hear  de  carriage  comin'  up  de 
hill,  and  me  no'  want  Missis  for  break  e  neck  in  de 
dark." 

"  Welcome !  thrice  welcome  to  Palm  Hill,"  said 
his  Mistress  to  Beatrice  and  her  father,  as  they  en- 
tered the  hall ;  "  I  need  not  tell  you  how  glad  I  am 
to  see  you  within  these  walls.  Here's  Miss  Blanche, 
yon  see,  Pomio,  come  back  to  us  again.  Here 
Blanche,  love,  come  and  speak  to  old  Pomio  ;"  but 
Blanche  was  already  running  across  the  hall  to  meet 
Jeannette,  her  colored  nurse,  who  stood  timidly 
awaiting  her  in  an  adjoining  room,  the  door  of 
which  opened  into  the  hall,  not  daring  to  venture 
forward,  as  having  some  secret  misgivings,  whether 
Blanche's  absence  might  not  have  made  her  too  dig- 
nified a  young  lady  to  be  romped  with  as  of  old. 
Her  warm  embrace,  however,  soon  dispelled  poor 
Jeannette's  fears,  and  Pomio  exclaimed  to  his  mis- 
tress : — 

"Hi !  Missy  Blanche,  she  lub  somebody  too  much 
for  true !" 

After  embracing  Jeannette,  Blanche  ran  into  the 
kitchen,  to  see  what  friends  she  had  left  among  ita 
inmates,  and  also  to  discover  if  a  favorite  green 


PALM  HILL.  97 

parrot,  which  used  Jo  hang  outside  the  kitchen  - 
porch,  had  been  taken  care  of.  Things  seemed  to 
prove  satisfactory  to  her,  for  she  remained  absent  so 
\ong,  that  her  Aunt  had  to  send  Pomio  to  summon 
her  to  supper,  which  was  awaiting  our  travelers  in 
an  airy,  cheerful-looking  dining-room.  When  the 
meal  was  concluded,  Madame  de  Tremonille  said  to 
Mr.  Evelyn,  that  she  was  sure  he  would  be  glad  of 
rest,  and  that,  therefore,  she  should,  with  his  per- 
mission, immediately  summon  the  servants  to  family 
prayers — "  You  will  want  a  little  time,  too,  to  un- 
pack your  boxes,  dear  Miss  Evelyn,"  she  continued, 
"  you  know  you  must  consider  yourselves  as  domi- 
ciled with  me  for  some  time  to  come." 

"  Indeed  !  my  dear  Madam,  you  are  very  kind," 
returned  Mr.  Evelyn,  "  but  it  was  only  my  intention 
to  pay  you  a  short  visit,  in  order  to  return  Blanche 
into  your  hands  in  person,  and  afterward  to  hire  a 
small  house  in  the  neighborhood  for  myself  and  my 
daughter.  It  is  probable  my  stay  in  the  island  may 
be  for  four  or  five  months,  and  I  think  it  would, 
therefore,  be  better,  with  your  leave,  to  get  settled 
as  soon  as  possible." 

"  I  assure  you  I  will  not  hear  of  your  doing  such  a 
thing,"  said  Madame  de  Tremonille;  "  my  house 
must  be  your  house,  my  dear  Sir,  as  long  as  you  are 
in  this  island ;  no  time  will  be  too  long  for  me ;  I 
shall  be  only  delighted  to  have  such  pleasant  coin- 


98  GKEATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

panions,  and  I  have  old,  attached  servants,  who  are 
accustomed  to  the  ways  of  the  house,  so  that  there 
will  be  no  trouble  given  at  all,  but  only  pleasure.  I 
feel  I  shall  love  your  dear  Beatrice  as  a  sister;  you 
will  let  me  call  you  Beatrice,  will  you  not?"  said  she, 
kissing  her — "I  do  not  like  formality."  Beatrice 
returned  her  embrace  warmly,  while  her  eyes  spoke 
the  pleasure  and  happiness  she  felt. 


CHAPTER   V. 

"  Thousands  of  men  breathe,  move,  and  live,  pass  off  the  etaga  of 
life  and  are  heard  of  no  more.  Live  for  something— do  good,  and 
leave  behind  you  a  monument  of  virtue." — CHALMERS. 

THE  bright  beams  of  the  sun  awoke  Beatrice  at 
an  early  hour  the  following  morning,  and  on  rising 
and  looking  out  of  her  bed-room  window,  a  glorious 
prospect  presented  itself.  Immediately  beneath  her 
was  a  very  prettily  kept  garden,  the  flowers  of  which 
were  sending  forth  the  sweetest  perfumes,  while  here 
and  there  were  grouped  picturesque  clusters  of  cocoa- 
nut  and  marango  trees;  among  the  boughs  of  the 
latter  hundreds  of  bright  humming-birds  were  danc- 
ing in  and  out  with  almost  incredible  velocity. 
Some  of  these  tiny  creatures  were  scarcely  bigger 
than  a  humble-bee;  others,  again,  a  larger  species, 
had  a  tail  of  two  slender  black  feathers,  which  crossed 
each  other  delicately,  and  were  nearly  twice  the 
length  of  their  little  emerald-green  bodies.  There 
was,  again,  a  variety  called  the  'Doctor  humming- 
bird,'a  still  larger  and  more  sober-looking  gentleman, 
dressed  in  purple,  who  seemed  to  make  it  a  constant, 
9  (99) 


100  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

practice  to  quarrel  with  all  the  other  birds,  and  chaso 
them  from  any  tree  on  which  he  might  have  estab- 
lished himself.  These  marango  trees  h»d  clusters 
of  sweet-smelling  white  flowers,  much  resembling 
those  of  the  acacia,  and  the  honey  contained  in  these 
attracted  thither  large  numbers  of  the  little  fairy-like 
creatures.  Looking  lower  down  toward  the  valley, 
he  town  was  seen  dotted  prettily  about,  with  its 
bright  party-colored  buildings,  tinted  by  the  morning 
sun  ;  and  far  in  the  distance,  bounding  the  horizon, 
was  the  glorious  blue  sea,  looking  so  calm,  and  clear, 
and  peaceful. 

Beatrice  offered  a  fervent  prayer  of  gratitude  to 
the  God  who  had  made  all  things  so  beautiful.  She 
prayed  that  her  visit  to  the  island  might  be  of  some 
service,  both  to  herself  and  others,  and  that  she 
might  be  enabled  to  let  her  Christian  light  burn 
clearly  before  all  men.  O!  how  she  wished  that 
Walter  could  have  been  there,  to  enjoy  these  beau 
tiful  scenes  with  her  —  and  a  shadow  seemed  for 
a  moment  to  fall  over  her,  as  she  thought  of  the  dis- 
tance which  separated  them — and  then,  again,  the 
remembrance  of  his  trusting  words  to  her,  as  they 
stood  on  the  deck  together,  that  "  God  would  surely 
work  all  things  together  for  their  good,"  brought 
calm  and  comfort  to  her  mind. 

Descending  from  her  chamber  she  found  Madame 
de  Treinonille  and  Blanche  already  in  the  veranaa, 


THE   GABDEN.  101 

the  latter  running  merrily  about,  while  her  aunt  sat 
sipping  a  cup  of  cofi'ee,  and  enjoying  the  fresh  morn- 
ing air.  Blanche  ran  to  kiss  her,  and  Madame  de 
Tremonille,  after  kindly  inquiring  after  her  health, 
said  she  did  not  know  whether  she  were  inclined 
immediately  to  adopt  the  West  India  fashion  of  tak- 
ing coffee  in  the  early  morning,  but  that  there  was 
some  ready  for  her  if  she  chose  to  take  it.  Beatrice 
declined,  but  said  she  should  be  very  glad  to  recon- 
noiter  the  pretty  garden  she  had  been  admiring  from 
her  bed-room  window. 

"Well,  then,  we  will  all  go  together,"  said  Ma- 
dame de  Tremonille ;  "  it  is  now  half-past  six,  and 
in  another  hour  or  so,  the  sun  will  be  unpleasantly 
warm,  so  come,  Blanche,  let  us  go  at  once." 

"I  am  going  to  run  on  before,  Aunty;  I  want  to 
see  my  chickens." 

"  Well,  go  on,  my  child.  I  did  not  allow  Pomio 
to  wake  your  father,  dear  Beatrice,  I  thought  he 
would  require  rest  after  his  journey ;  he  is  looking 
very  delicate.  Has  he  been  ill  for  any  long  period 
of  time  ?" 

Beatrice  recounted  the  history  of  the  fire,  and  its 
subsequent  effects,  in  producing  the  severe  cold  from 
which  her  father  was  still  suffering.  "But  I  have 
great  hopes,"  she  continued,  "that  this  warm  air 
may  do  him  a  great  deal  of  good ;  you  do  not  think 


102  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

he  looks  so  very  ill,  do  you,  dear  Madame  de  Tre- 
monille  ?" 

"Call  me  Isabella,"  replied  her  friend;  "you  know 
we  are  to  be  sisters,  now.  I  feel  it  is  no  kindness  to 
hide  from  you  that,  from  what  little  I  have  seen  of 
your  father,  there  appears  to  me  to  be  the  greatest 
cause  for  anxiety,  though  still  we  may  hope  much 
from  the  change  of  climate.  I  can  see  already  what 
a  kind,  true-hearted  man  he  is,  and  how  much  you 
must  love  him ;  and  I  earnestly  hope  that  any  fears 
I  have  may  prove  groundless — you  and  I  must  take 
all  the  care  of  him  we  can.  Put  your  trust  in  the 
Lord,  my  dear  friend,  and  He  will  never  fail  you. 
When  my  own  Eugene  lay  delirious  with  fever,  be- 
fore he  was  taken  from  me,  I  prayed  so  earnestly 
that  I  might  be  enabled  to  use  our  blessed  Saviour's 
words :  '  Father,  not  my  will,  but  thine  be  done ;' 
and  though  our  parting,  when  it  came,  was  a  bitter 
trial,  I  feel  that  I  was  greatly  strengthened  under  it. 
'God  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,'" — and 
she  pressed  Beatrice's  hand  as  she  spoke,  while  the 
tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 

Just  then  little  Blanche  came  running  up  with  a 
nosegay  for  Beatrice,  of  the  oleander  and  fragrant 
Spanish  jessamine. 

"  Why  do  you  look  so  sad  ?"  said  she ;  "  come 
down  the  path  and  see  what  pretty  chickens  I  have 


MKS.  MOORE.  103 

got.  Many  little  ones  have  come  since  I  went  away; 
and  look,  Nelly  is  feeding  them,  and  I  want  to  help 
her." 

A  little  black  girl,  of  about  ten  years  old,  Poinio'a 
daughter,  was  busily  engaged  in  throwing  handfuls 
of  chopped  cocoa-nut  among  the  fowls,  who  scram- 
bled for  it  greedily. 

"Now,"  said  Blanche,  laughing,  "you  shall  be 
my  large  chicken,  dear  Beatrice,  and  I  will  give  you 
a  great  piece  of  the  cocoa-nut.  Nelly !"  she  called 
out,  "  where  did  you  put  the  pieces  of  cocoa-nut  you 
did  not  cut  up  ?" 

"  Under  de  big  tree,  dere,  Missy  Blanche,  on  de 
little  wooden  seat." 

"  O !  yes,  I  see ;  and  now  here 's  a  fine  place  for 
you  two  to  rest,  while  Nelly  and  I  finish  feeding  the 
chickens — and  then,  dear  Mamma,"  said  she,  look- 
ing up  coaxingly  at  Madame  de  Tremonille,  "let  us 
all  take  a  walk  up  the  hill  behind  the  house,  to 
widow  Moore's.  I  should  so  like  to  see  her — and 
you  know,  I  can  get  on  so  much  better  now  than 
when  you  used  to  have  to  tell  her  all  I  wanted  to 
say." 

Her  aunt  kissed  her  and  nodded  consent,  and 
Blanche  skipped  happily  away  and  quickly  dis- 
patched the  business  of  feeding  the  chickens.  It 
was  through  a  very  pretty  path  that  the  road  lay  to 
widow  Moore's  house ;  the  first  part  was  up  a  steep 


104  GEEATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

ascent,  bnt  it  was  shaded  by  trees  nearly  the  whole 
way,  and  then  descending  a  gentle  inclination,  a 
small  cottage,  thatched  with  cocoa-nut  branches,  pre- 
sented itself  to  their  view. 

"  O !  there  is  widow  Moore,  coming  from  the 
spring,  with  a  jng  of  water  on  her  head,"  said 
Blanche,  as  she  ran  forward  to  meet  her.  The 
others  slowly  followed:  "This  poor  woman,"  said 
Madame  de  Tremonille,  "is  such  a  simple-minded, 
earnest  Christian,  and  is  such  a  really  useful  and 
estimable  person,  that  I  shall  be  glad  for  you  to  know 
her.  She  lost  her  husband  some  years  ago,  and  was 
left  with  an  only  son,  the  very  idol  of  her  heart. 
She  will  be  sure  to  speak  to  you  of  her  '  poor  boy,' 
as  she  calls  him,  before  she  has  seen  you  long. 
This  son  married  some  three  years  ago,  and  still 
continued  to  reside  with  his  mother  till  about  ten 
months  ago,  when  he  died  of  fever.  It  was  a  sad 
case — his  wife  lay  in  the  small  room  adjoining  that 
in  which  he  died,  in  the  agonies  of  child-birth,  un- 
able to  receive  her  husband's  dying  blessing  and  fare- 
well; and  the  poor  little  fatherless  boy  you  see  in 
that  young  woman's  arms  at  the  cottage  door,  is  the 
little  child  he  never  lived  to  welcome  into  the  world. 
The  two  widows  still  live  together,  cherishing  the 
little  baby  as  all  that  is  left  to  remind  them  of  their 
lost  William.  But  here  is  Mrs.  Moore  coming  to 
meet  us.  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  child  as  Blanche 


MRS.  MOOKE.  105 

for  making  friends  with  every  one  ?  Look  how  she 
holds  that  poor  woman  by  the  hand,  chatting  to  her 
as  fast  as  possible !" 

"  She  is  a  dear  little  warm-hearted  creature,"  re- 
plied Beatrice. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Moore,"  said  Madame  de  Tremon- 
ille,  "so  you  see  I  have  found  my  little  truant 


"  Indeed,  Missus,"  said  the  widow,  making  a 
respectful  salutation,  "  I  am  glad  enough  to  see  her 
bright  little  face  again — and  she  is  so  improved  in 
her  speaking,  too — the  dear  child." 

"I  have  brought  a  friend  of  mine,  too,  to  see  you, 
Mrs.  Moore,"  said  Madame  de  Tremonille,  turning 
to  Beatrice,  "  the  daughter  of  the  American  gentle- 
man, who,  as  I  told  you,  was  so  kind  to  little 
Blanche  ;  and  he  has  brought  her  home  safe  to  me 
himself;  but  I  am  sorry  to  say  he  is  not  at  all  well, 
and  I  think  I  shall  have  to  get  you  to  come  and 
prescribe  some  of  your  favorite  remedies  for  him. 
You  must  know,  Beatrice,  that  Mrs.  Moore  is  quite 
a  celebrated  nurse  and  doctress  in  these  parts." 

"Not  much  to  boast  of,  Miss,"  returned  the  wid- 
ow; "but  come  in,  ladies,  and  rest  yourselves  awhile 
before  you  go  home." 

They  entered  the  house,  which,  though  small,  was 
scrupulously  neat.  A  rather  pretty  young  quadroon 
woman,  little  William's  mother,  sat  dancing  her 


106  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

child  on  her  knee,  singing  to  him,  at  the  same  time, 
a  wild  sort  of  melody  —  which  she  ceased  on  the 
entrance  of  the  visitors. 

A  large  Bible  lay  open  on  a  small,  rough  wooden 
table,  near  the  door,  while  a  few  stools  and  one 
rocking-chair  completed  the  furniture  of  the  room. 
The  windows  had  no  panes  of  glass,  but  consisted 
merely  of  wooden  jalousies,  which  could  be  opened 
or  shut  at  pleasure.  There  was  one  sleeping  apart- 
ment, and  a  small  shed  outside,  used  for  cooking  — 
the  heat  of  the  climate  rendering  it  very  inconve- 
nient to  carry  on  any  culinary  operations  in  the 
house:  indeed,  in  almost  all  West  India  houses, 
the  kitchen  is,  for  this  reason,  placed  at  a  distance 
from  the  dwelling. 

"  Well,  Lucy,  and  how  is  your  little  boy  ?"  said 
Madame  de  Tremonille,  as  she  patted  the  little 
bright-eyed  fellow  on  the  cheek. 

"  Willy  is  fine,  thank  ye,  Missis,"  said  the  mo- 
ther, gazing  fondly  at  the  little  smiling  rogue  in  her 
arms. 

"  I  do  not  think  I  saw  you  at  church  on  Sunday, 
Mrs.  Moore,"  said  Madame  de  Tremonille ;  "  it  is 
quite  an  unusual  thing  to  see  your  place  empty?" 

"  Indeed,  Missis,  I  am  sorry  myself  whenever  it 
is  empty ;  but  our  neighbor,  old  Joe  Ward,  is  very 
sick,  and  he  sent  for  me,  a  littlo  before  church-time, 
to  ask  me  to  go  and  see  him.  The  poor  old  creature 


THE  GOOD  NEGRO.  107 

lives  all  alone,  except  that  little,  wild  grandchild 
of  his,  who  isn't  often  there,  und  he  seemed  so  down- 
hearted and  sick,  I  thought  I  would  stay  with  him 
and  read  and  pray  a  bit.  He  looks  a  poor  broken- 
down  old  man,  and  certainly,  Missis,  he  's  none  of 
the  handsomest  to  look  at,  but  I  believe  he 's  surely 
a  pilgrim  on  his  road  to  glory,  and  a  child  of  God, 
if  there  ever  was  one  in  this  world." 

"Ah!"  said  Madame  de  Tremonille,  "that  old 
black  man,  with  his  poor  withered,  and  almost  de- 
formed body,  will  shine  as  gloriously,  and  obtain, 
perhaps,  a  far  richer  inheritance,  than  many  of  those 
who,  with  lovely  face  and  noble  forms,  have  not 
served  their  God  as  faithfully  as  he  has  —  with  all 
his  hinderances  of  poverty,  and,  I  believe,  persecu- 
tion, to  contend  with." 

"Persecution  indeed,  Missis,"  said  Mrs.  Moore; 
"  when  his  son  and  daughter-in-law  were  alive  they 
used  to  worry  old  Joe  night  and  day  about  his  reli- 
gion, and  if  they  saw  him  go  down  on  his  knees  to 
pray,  or  take  up  his  Bible,  it  was  a  signal  for  ill- 
treatment  and  harsh  words.  You  see,  Missis,  the 
house  was  but  small,  and  when  they  saw  the  old 
man  wanted  to  have  a  quiet  time  to  himself,  they 
would  just  make  all  the  noise  and  confusion  they 
could,  and  so  at  last  he  used  to  make  it  his  practice 
to  go  out  of  doors  and  get  in  some  shady  place, 
under  a  tree,  where  he  thought  he  should  not  be 


108  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

disturbed,  and  there  pray  to  his  Saviour  so  sweetly, 
that  sometimes,  when  I  have  been  passing  anywhere 
near,  I  have  stopped  to  listen  till  I  felt  my  heart 
warm  too.  Well,  they  that  persecuted  him  were 
taken  away  by  death,  and  in  the  time  of  their  sick- 
ness they  did  seem  to  show  some  little  contrition 
toward  the  old  man,  and  begged  him  to  forgive 
them  for  all  their  nnkindness  to  him.  He  certainly 
bore  them  no  ill-will,  for  he  was  always  as  gentle 
and  kind  to  them,  as  if  they  had  been  the.  best 
children  possible,  and  he  takes  good  care  of  their 
little  one,  now  they  are  gone  —  though  she 's  but  a 
graceless  child,  too — and  I  hope  he  may  not  be  dis- 
appointed in  her.  Before  he  took  sick,  many  and 
many  a  time  has  he  come  down  to  have  a  time  of 
prayer  with  me  and  Lucy,  and  our  poor  William. 
But  now,  I  think,  he 's  failing  fast,  and  is  not  long 
for  this  world.  Our  good  minister,  Mr.  Campbell, 
has  been  to  see  him  several  times  lately,  and  this 
has  been  a  great  comfort  to  the  poor  old  man.  He 
is  such  a  kind  gentleman  —  I  love  to  see  him  enter 
my  door ;  what  he  says  always  seems  to  help  me," 
and  do  me  good." 

"  We  are  indeed  blessed  in  our  minister,"  replied 
Madame  de  Tremonille ;  "  but  come,  it  must  be 
breakfast -time,  and  we  had  better  be  going  home," 
continued  she,  moving  toward  the  door — ucome  to 
ine,  Mrs.  Moore,  for  any  little  delicacy  you  think 


THE  MINISTER.  109 

old  Joe  might  fancy.     I  will  come  and  see  him  my 
self,  if  I  can,  to-morrow." 

"  Who  is  this  Mr.  Campbell  ?"  said  Beatrice,  as 
they  slowly  wended  their  way  toward  the  house. 

"  He  is  the  minister  of  a  small  Scotch  church, 
Decently  established  near  here,"  was  the  reply ;  "  I 
will  show  you  the  neat  building  when  we  shall  have 
turned  the  brow  of  the  hill.  His  cure  lies  among 
the  small  hamlets  scattered  along  the  valley,  below 
our  house.  His  congregation  consists  chiefly  of  col- 
ored people,  but  there  are  several  white  families 
who  attend  regularly — ours  among  others.  Indeed, 
I  have  myself  lately  become  a  member  of  his  church, 
and  this  for  several  reasons.  One  is,  that  I  believe 
his  preaching  to  be  faithful,  and  his  views  scriptu- 
ral, and  that  he  endeavors  to  preach  Christ  to  the 
people.  Another  is,  that  the  nearest  church  in  the 
town  is  two  miles  and  a  half  from  home,  and  I  do  not 
like  to  use  my  servants  and  horses  on  the  Sabbath, 
when  I  can  avoid  doing  so ;  and  beside,  if  we  attend 
any  church,  I  think,  we  should,  if  possible,  be  regular 
and  constant  in  attending  all  the  services  which  are 
held  there.  I  do  not  approve  of  the  plan  of  just  going 
to  church  once  on  the  Sabbath,  when  the  minister 
thinks  it  fitting  and  advantageous  to  have  a  second 
service,  that  the  people  may  at  least  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  meeting  together  twice  on  the  Lord's  day. 
I  do  not  think  it  becomes  a  professing  Christian  to 


110  GKEATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

be  willingly  absent  from  such  a  means  of  grace.  It 
is  not  the  form  of  going  to  church  twice  that  I  look 
to;  it  is,  that  where  a  person  is  a  true  Christian,  they 
will  love  to  meet  together  with  other  believers,  to 
serve  their  common  Lord." 

"  How  many  people  there  are,  though,"  said  Bea- 
trice, "who  seem  to  think  they  have  quite  performed 
their  duty,  if  they  just  go  and  '  show  themselves ' 
at  church  once  on  the  Sabbath  ;  they  seem  to  think 
it  a  sort  of  necessary  duty  done,  and  out  of  the  way 
— and  the  rest  of  the  day  is  spent  in  frivolous  con- 
versation, or  in  reading  books  of  general  literature, 
which,  though  very  good  in  their  way,  are  certainly 
not  calculated  to  lead  our  thoughts  to  that  Lord  who 
has  commanded  ns  to  keep  His  day  holy :  '  not 
following  our  own  thoughts,  nor  speaking  our  own 
words.' " 

"  I  think,"  said  Madame  de  Tremonille,  "  that  it 
is  a  pity,  that  many  well-meaning  Christian  parents, 
by  an  unnecessary  strictness  and  severity  of  disci- 
pline, should  create  a  distaste  in  the  minds  of  their 
children  for  the  duties  of  the  Sabbath — and  when 
these  children  grow  up,  and  throw  off  parental 
restraint,  they  will  be  the  more  likely,  if  not  con- 
verted, to  disregard  even  the  decent  observance  of 
the  day.  I  would  not  allow  a  child  to  play  the 
same  games,  or  read  the  same  books,  as  on  the 
week-days,  but  I  would  find  something  to  afford 


SUNDAY  DISCIPLINE.  Ill 

Borne  relaxation  to  the  mind  after  the  hours  of  pub- 
lic worship,  which  might  still  be  of  a  gentle  and 
quiet  nature,  befitting  a  holy  day  of  rest — God's 
day — and  yet  enough  to  keep  the  mind  and  body 
from  weariness  from  being  kept  on  the  stretch  during 
the  whole  day.  This  was  the  plan  pursued  with  me, 
by  my  dear  mother,  in  England,  when  I  was  a  child. 
Although  she  never  allowed  me  to  follow  my  own 
fancy  about  going  to  church,  as  some  mothers  do — • 
permitting  any  trivial  excuse  pleaded  to  be  a  cause 
of  non-attendance — yet  she  never  made  my  going 
seem  irksome  to  me,  for  she  always  spoke  of  it  as 
the  greatest  treat  and  privilege,  and  as  what  no 
right-minded  Christians  would  ever  willingly  absent 
themselves  from.  I  could  see  how  she  looked  for- 
ward to  going  to  God's  house  —  how  she  always 
made  it  a  point  to  be  there  early,  so  as  to  lose  no 
part  of  the  precious  service,  and  I  used  to  think  it 
very,  very  nice,  to  be  allowed  to  go  with  her.  In 
the  afternoon,  she  used  to  take  me  with  her  to  the 
parish-school,  and  when  I  was  old  enough  I  had  a 
class  of  little  ones  to  teach  myself,  and  this  was  a 
source  of  great  pleasure  and  interest.  When  we 
came  home,  I  was  allowed  to  go  into  the  garden,  or 
occupy  myself  in  any  quiet  way  for  an  hour  or  two. 
Then  she  would  call  me,  and  we  read  together  out 
of  the  Bible,  or  some  book  of  simple  religious 


112  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

instruction,  allegories,  memoirs,  etc.  O  !  how  well 
I  remember  going  through  the  Pilgrim's  Progress, 
and  the  delight  it  gave  me.  After  that,  my  mother 
would  open  the  piano,  and  sing  sweet  hymns,  while 
I  would  join  as  well  as  I  could,  and  dear  Papa,  too, 
if  he  happened  to  be  there.  After  tea,  there  was 
the  evening  service  at  the  church,  and  then,  as  a 
Sunday  treat,  I  was  always  allowed  to  sit  up  to 
supper  with  papa  and  mamma.  My  Sundays,  dear 
Beatrice,  were  looked  forward  to  and  not  dreaded, 
and  I  have  loved  the  Sabbath  ever  since.  I  do  not 
mean  to  say  that  every  child  brought  up  to  regard 
the  Sabbath  thus,  would  love  it  and  look  forward  to 
it,  but  such  a  course  has  most  certainly  a  tendency 
to  produce  that  effect ;  and  I  think  I  may  say  that 
the  cordial  love  felt  by  both  my  parents,  for  God's 
word,  His  day,  and  His  ordinances,  was  the  means, 
under  Him,  of  bringing  my  heart  to  the  Saviour. 
I  had  many,  many  advantages ;  I  was  the  child  of 
much  prayer,  and  I  feel  how  very  much  Christian 
parents  may  do  for  the  souls  of  their  children ;  how 
seldom  do  we  see  the  children  of  praying  fathers 
and  mothers  die  unconverted.  The  ground  may  lie 
fallow  for  years,  but  if  good  seed  be  sown,  it  will 
assuredly  spring  up  into  life  some  day." 

"I  suppose  you  intend  pursuing  much  such  a  plan 
as  that  you  mentioned,  with  regard  to  Blanche,"  said 


THE  POOR  CARPENTER.  113 

Beatrice  ;  "  she  is  a  dear  little  docile  thing,  and  bet- 
ter than  that,  indeed,  for  she  seems  to  have  been 
taught  to  know  and  love  the  Saviour  by  her  poor 
father.  He  was  a  Christian,  was  he  not?" 

"  Indeed  he  was,  an  earnest  and  devoted  one,"  said 
Madame  de  Tremonille.  "  I,  as  you  know,  had  only 
the  pleasure  of  knowing  him  for  about  six  months  ; 
but  he  was  not  the  kind  of  man  who  would  '  hide 
his  light  under  a  bushel.'  He  loved  God,  and  he 
was  not  ashamed  to  own  Him  before  men.  It  may 
be  fancy,  but  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  I  could 
see  '  the  light  shining  through,'  on  the  face  of  any  one 
particularly  full  of  God's  Spirit;  and  it  was  so  with 
him,  to  a  remarkable  degree." 

"O!  I  know  what  you  mean,"  replied  Beatrice. 
"  I  remember,  once,  Papa  took  me  walking  with  him 
to  see  a  poor  carpenter,  with  whom  he  had  some 
business;  and  I  really  seemed  to  feel,  directly  I  saw 
him,  that  he  was  a  Christian — and  the  idea  was  con- 
firmed when  he  began  to  speak — there  seemed  such 
a  heavenly,  happy  expression  on  his  countenance. 
But  I  do  not  think,  dear  Isabelle,  (and  Beatrice 
looked  at  her  companion  and  smiled,  as  she  pro- 
nounced the  name,)  that  I  have  observed  this  in 
many  Christians,  have  you  ?" 

"  No,  indeed ;  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  most  of  God's 
children  allow  the  clouds  and  mists  of  sin  10  be  far 


114:  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

too  thick  and  strong  for  much  light  to  shine  at  all. 
But,  I  think,  the  reason  is,  that  they  do  not  live  near 
enough  to  Him — not  sufficiently  in  personal  commu- 
nion with  Him.  I  have  seen  that,  at  times,  in  my 
dear  Eugene's  face,  which  plainly  told  me  he  had 
-been  with  Jesus,  when,  perhaps,  I  had  been  absent 
from  the  house,  and  quite  unaware  of  how  he  had 
been  engaged !  Oh !  it  is  such  a  comfort,  dear  Bea- 
trice,— such  an  inexpressible  comfort, — to  think  of 
these  things,  now  that  he  is  gone." 

"  Oh !  how  bitterly  a  Christian  woman  must  rue 
it,  in  after  life,  when  she  has  been  tempted,  from 
worldly  causes,  to  marry  an  unbeliever,"  said 
Beatrice. 

"Bitterly,  indeed;  but  we  have  quite  strayed 
away  from  Mr.  Campbell,  of  whom  you  were  asking 
me.  He  is  such  a  faithful  man ;  his  work  here  is 
really  quite  a  missionary  one,  for  his  salary  is  ex- 
ceedingly small,  and  his  congregation  poor  and  scat- 
tered ;  but  I  will  let  you  judge  of  him  when  you 
have  seen  him.  1  hope,  dear  Beatrice,  that  when- 
ever you  marry,  it  may  be  a  man  as  earnest  and  de 
voted  as  he  is. 

Beatrice  blushed,  and  said :  "  Yes,  indeed,  I  be 
lieve,  I  think  it — is  so — " 

"What!"  said  Madame  de  Tremonille, looking* at 
Aer,  and  smiling  as  she  spoke ;  "so  that's  the  case. 


CREOLES.  115 

is  it  ?  So  you  have  left  your  heart  in  New  York, 
have  you  ?  Do  tell  me  who  it  is — I  am  so  glad — I 
know  you  will  make  such  a  good  wife." 

"Thank,  you,"  said  Beatrice,  laughing;  "but 
now  we  are  at  the  house,  so  I  will  wait  till  after 
breakfast  to  satisfy  your  curiosity.  I  must  really  go 
and  see  how  dear  Papa  is — he  will  be  awake,  and 
wondering  what  has  become  of  me." 

Blanche  joined  them  at  the  gate ;  she  had  strayed 
away  in  search  of  flowers,  and  by  the  time  she 
reached  home,  she  was  quite  ready  for  her  breakfast. 

"  Do  not  be  long,"  said  Madame  de  Tremonille, 
"we  shall  wait  for  you ;  and  I  want  you  to  tell  me 
what  your  Papa  will  fancy  to  eat.  I  suppose  they 
would  think  our  West  India  breakfast  an  odd  one 
in  New  York,  would  they  not,  Blanche  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  dear  Mamma,  I  do  not  think  they 
would  get  used  to  eating  plantain  and  yam,  early 
in  the  morning,  at  first.  You  know,  I  did  not  like 
it,  when  I  first  came  from  France, — everything  tasted 
so  funny  to  me." 

"So  it  did  to  me,  darling;  but  you  see  I  have 
been  so  long  here,  I  am  becoming  quite  a  Creole." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that  word  Creole,  Mam- 
ma ?  Am  I  a  creole  ?" 

"No,  dearest.  Creoles,  properly  speaking,  are 
European  people's  children  who  have  been  born  in 

the  West  Indies,  but  the  term  is  now  generally 
10 


116  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

applied  to  all  who  are  natives  of  the  islands,  whether 
white  or  colored.  You  are  not  a  Creole,  because, 
you  know,  you  were  born  in  France ;  and  I  am  not 
a  Creole,  for  I  was  born  in  England." 

"Then,  is  Judge  Green's  little  baby  a  Creole, 
Mamma  P  said  Blanche,  thoughtfully. 

"  Yes,  dearest ;  you  know  she  was  born  just  before 
you  left  for  America.  Don't  you  remember  going 
with  me  to  see  it,  and  being  afraid  to  touch  the  tiny 
creature,  lest  you  should  hurt  it  ?" 

"O!  yes,  to  be  sure!"  said  Blanche,  laughing; 
"  but  I  was  littler  then  than  1  am  now ;  I  have  seen 
several  babies  since  then." 

"  And  the  baby  was  *  littler,'  as  you  call  it,  too  ; 
she  has  grown  a  nice  little  girl — I  will  take  you  to 
see  her  some  day,  if  you  are  good." 

"  I  hope  I  shall  be  good,  dear  Mamma ;  oh !  it  is  so 
nice  to  be  here  with  you  again,  and  to  have  Beatrice 
here  too.  You  can't  think  how  kind  she  was  to 
me  in  New  York  —  she  was  so  gentle,  and  she  used 
to  teach  me  so  many  things.  I  was  thinking,  this 
morning,  when  I  was  out  gathering  flowers,  of  a 
pretty  hymn  she  once  gave  me  to  learn.  May  I  re- 
peat it  to  you  ?" 

"Do,  my  child!" 

Blanche  began  to  repeat  the  beautiful  hymn,  be- 
ginning— "  I  want  to  be  like  Jesus  ;"  pronouncing 
the  words  slowly  and  carefully,  lest  her  imperfec* 


MR.  EVELYN'S  ILLNESS.  117 

pronunciation  should  destroy  the  effect  on  her  aunt's 
mind. 

When  she  had  finished,  her  aunt  thanked  her, 
and  kissed  her  fondly;  and  just  then  the  door  opened 
and  Beatrice  entered.  She  looked  pale  and  dis- 
tressed, and  said  she  had  found  her  father  extremely 
weak  and  exhausted,  his  cough  having  been  very 
troublesome  during  the  night. 

"  Oh  !  dear,  I  am  sorry  to  hear  so  bad  an  ac- 
count," said  Madame  de  Tremonille;  "do  you  not 
think  it  would  be  better  to  send  for  medical  advice  ? 
I  can  recommend  a  physician,  whom  I  believe  to  be 
very  skillful." 

"  Well  1  I  really  think  I  will  venture  to  send  for 
him,  on  my  own  responsibility,  without  consulting 
Papa,"  replied  Beatrice.  "  He  looks  so  very  ill  that 
I  cannot  feel  easy  till  he  has  seen  a  doctor,  and  yet,  in 
another  hour  he  might  feel  so  much  better  as  to 
oppose  our  sending  for  one." 

Madame  de  Tremonille  arranged  several  little 
tempting  delicacies  on  a  tray,  and  dispatched  them 
to  Mr.  Evelyn  by  Pomio,  and  then  told  Beatrice 
that  she  must  come  and  eat  some  breakfast  on  pain 
of  her  serious  displeasure.  When  the  latter  had 
seated  herself  at  the  table,  Madame  de  Tremonille 
said,  that  she  thought  she  would  drive  down  into  the 

town  herself,  after  breakfast;  that  she  had  some  shop- 
8 


118          GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

ping  to  do,  and  that  she  could  call  at  Dr.  Mason's  at 
the  same  time.  "  I  should  be  glad  if  you  could  come 
with  me,  dear  Beatrice,"  she  continued ;  "  but  per- 
haps you  would  hardly  like  to  leave  your  father — 
but  do  as  you  like  best." 

"Thank  you,  I  will  stay  with  Papa,"  replied 
Beatrice,  "  and  I  want  very  much  to  write  home — I 
know  Hetty  will  be  expecting  a  letter." 

"And  somebody  else,  too,  eh?"  said  her  friend, 
laughing — "  Come  now,  dear  Beatrice,  tell  me  who 
your  intended  is,  and  what  he  is  like,  or  I  shall  not 
be  able  to  eat  my  breakfast  for  curiosity." 

Beatrice  colored  and  laughed — "  Well  now,"  said 
she,  "  where  am  I  to  begin  ?  at  the  color  cf  his  eyes, 
or  his  hair,  or  his  age  and  height — or  what?" 

"Anything  you  like,  as  long  as  you  give  me  a 
good  idea  of  him." 

Beatrice  recounted,  in  as  few  words  as  possible, 
the  history  of  her  acquaintance  with  Walter  Grey, 
and  described  his  prospects,  and  character,  and  dis- 
position. It  is  true,  that  the  sketch  was  painted 
with  the  rosy  light  of  love  —  but  it  was  about  a 
correct  one,  after  all. 

"I  think  he  is  such  a  very  nice  young  man, 
Aunty,"  said  Blanche — '"he  was  always  so  kind  to 
me.  Hetty,  and  all  of  us  liked  him  so  much — and 
he  is  handsome,  too." 


BEATKICE'S  CONFESSION.  119 

"  Well!  I  only  hope  he  is  worthy  of  yonr  friend, 
Beatrice,  iny  child ;  but  run  now  and  tell  Jeannette 
to  get  you  ready  to  go  to  town  with  me  ;  you  would 
like  to  come,  would  you  not?" 

"  O !  yes,  Aunty,  very  much." 

"Well  then,  dear,  go  now  and  do  not  be  long. 
You  had  better  run  into  the  kitchen  first,  and  tell 
Cato  to  bring  the  carriage  round  as  soon  as  he  can, 
for  I  want  to  set  off  before  the  sun  gets  too  hot." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Thou  art  gone  to  the  grave,  but  we  will  not  deplore  thee, 
Since  God  was  thy  ransom,  thy  guardian,  thy  guide, 
He  gave  thee,  He  took  thee,  and  soon  will  restore  thee, 
Where  death  has  no  sting  since  the  Saviour  has  died. 

BISHOP  HEBEE. 

"  The  dead  are  like  the  stars  by  day, 
Withdrawn  from  mortal  eye." 

THE  next  few  days  spent  at  Palm  Hill,  slipped 
rapidly  away,  unmarked  by  any  particular  event. 
Mr.  Evelyn,  who  had  rallied  a  little,  used  to 
lie,  during  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  on  a 
lounge  in  the  veranda,  while  little  Blanche  would 
fan  him  gently,  and  Beatrice  read  aloud.  In  the 
cool  of  the  evening,  when  he  was  well  enough, 
he  used  to  take  a  drive  in  Madame  de  Tremonille's 
carriage ;  but  he  did  not  seem  to  rally  as  much  as 
his  friends  had  hoped,  and  his  cough  was  now  ac- 
companied by  slight  hemorrhage  from  the  lungs, 
and  the  doctor  and  Madame  de  Tremonille  thought 
him  failing  fast;  but  Beatrice  could  not  help  per- 
suading herself  that  he  would  soon  be  better,  and 
that  the  present  great  weakness  was  only  the  result 
of  the  voyage  and  of  his  long  sickness  in  New  York. 


THE  PIOTUEE.  121 

Certainly,  there  were  times  when  her  father  would 
seem  quite  cheerful,  and  enter  into  conversation 
with  almost  the  liveliness  and  animation  of  old 
times — and  then  his  daughter's  sanguine  disposition 
made  her  ready  to  believe,  that  in  a  few  weeks,  he 
Would  be  quite  well  again. 

"When  thus  free  from  anxiety  on  his  account,  Bea- 
trice used  to  enter  with  the  greatest  zest  into  explo- 
ring different  parts  of  the  island,  collecting  curiosities, 
sketching,  etc.  She  soon  amassed  a  goodly  amount 
of  delightful  horribles,  such  as  tine  centipedes,  scor- 
pions, lizards  and  snakes,  which  she  carefully  put  up 
in  spirits  of  wine  to  show  to  Walter  and  Hetty. 

Beatrice  could  draw  very  nicely,  and  she  found 
abundant  subject  for  her  pencil  —  what  with  the 
beautiful  and  luxuriant  foliage  —  the  picturesque 
dwellings,  and  the  diversified  scenery,  she  made  a 
small,  but  very  pretty  water-color  drawing  of  Palm 
Hill,  and  inclosed  it  in  a  letter  home ;  and  Madame 
de  Tremonille  was  so  delighted  with  it,  that  she 
begged  Beatrice  to  draw  one  for  her  on  a  larger 
scale — that  she  might  have  it  framed  and  hang  it 
in  her  room,  for  a  keepsake. 

There  was  an  English  merchant,  of  the  name  of 
Gisborne,  residing  at  a  very  pretty  place,  about  half 
a  mile  from  Palm  Hill :  he  had  a  wife  and  several 
children,  all  grown  up,  and  they  were  exceedingly 
kind  and  pleasant  people.  One  or  two  of  the  daugh- 


122  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

ters  were  musical,  and  they  were  delighted  with  Bea- 
trice's sweet  voice ;  and  when  her  father  was  well 
enough,  she  would  often  go  over  to  Shady  Grove,  to 
practice  with  them. 

Three  or  four  times,  Mr.  Gisborne  hired  a  boat 
and  took  them  all  out,  in  the  early  morning,  for  a 
row  along  the  coast — they  used  to  drive  down  to  the 
shore  as  soon  as  daylight  broke,  and  get  back  home 
again  ere  the  sun  had  become  unpleasantly  powerful. 
Beatrice  and  Blanche  were  always  delighted  to  be 
of  the  party,  but  Madame  de  Tremonille  hardly  felt  in- 
clined to  join  them,  so  soon  after  her  husband's  death. 

One  morning,  after  the  Evelyns  had  been  about 
a  month  in  the  island,  Beatrice  was  returning  from 
one  of  these  expeditions,  with  little  Blanche,  and  on 
coming  near  the  house,  Madame  de  Tremonille  met 
them,  with  an  expression  of  sadness  and  anxiety  on 
her  face.  Beatrice  eagerly  and  breathlessly  asked 
her  if  anything  was  wrong. 

"  My  dear  girl,"  she  replied,  "  I  am  afraid  your 
father  is  very  ill.  About  half  an  hour  ago,  he  rang 
his  bell,  and  when  Pomio  went  to  his  room,  he 
found  him  lying  on  the  bed,  bleeding  profusely  from 
the  mouth,  and  unable  to  speak.  I  sent  for  widow 
Moore,  instantly,  as  I  scarcely  knew  what  to  do 
myself,  and  she  is  with  him  now,  and  I  also  dis- 
patched Pomio  on  horseback,  for  the  doctor. 

Beatrice  rushed  along  the  passage,  without  reply- 


JEANNETTE.  123 

ing ;  she  only  clasped  her  hands  together,  and  said, 
"  Oh !  that  I  should  have  been  out ! — poor  Papa  1" 

"I  am  surprised  you  did  not  meet  Pomio,  as  you 
came  up  the  hill,  from  Shady  Grove,  Blanche,"  said 
Madame  de  Tremonille,  u  are  you  sure  he  did  not 
pass  you  ?" 

"  Oh !  yes,  dear  Mamma,  I  'm  sure  we  should  have 
Been  him,"  replied  Blanche,  looking  very  pale. 
"If  you  please,  Missis,"  said  Jeannette,  who  had  just 
come  into  the  room,  to  fetch  Blanche  to  change  her 
dress,  "  I  fink  Pomio  must  have  pass  de  oder  way, 
t'rough  de  estate  de  Monsieur  Everette  ;  it  is  a  leetle 
more  short  for  de  horseback,  though  it  not  do  for 
carriage." 

"Ah!  you  are  right,  Jeannette;  I  did  not  think 
of  that." 

"  Venez,  Mademoiselle  Blanche,  s  'il  vous  plait, 
il  faut  que  je  vous  habille  pour  le  dejeuner." 

"  Oui,  Jeannette,  but  you  can  talk  English,  to 
Maman  ;  I  like  you  speak  it  to  me,  too — but  come, 
Jeannette,  we  must  go  very  softly  along  the  passage, 
now  poor  Mr.  Evelyn  is  so  sick.  Should  you  think 
lie  was  so  very  bad  ?"  continued  she,  as  they  entered 
the  pretty  little  room  appropriated  to  her  use. 

"  Pomio  say,  in  de  kitchen,"  replied  Jeannette, 
"dat  he  t'ink  he  no  live  long ;  ah  !  la  pan  vre  Mademoi- 
selle Beatrice,  dat  will  make  her  too  much  sorrow  " 

11 


124  GREATNESS  LM  LITTLE  Tnraas. 

But  we  must  follow  Beatrice,  to  her  father's 
room.  Stopping  one  moment  at  the  door,  she 
forcibly  endeavored  to  control  her  feelings,  lest  her 
sudden  entrance  might  excite  her  father  too  much : 
softly  opening  the  door,  she  saw  him  lying  perfectly 
still,  with  his  eyes  shut,  looking  very  pale,  while 
Mrs.  Moore  was  sitting  on  a  low  stool  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed.  She  rose,  when  she  saw  Beatrice,  and  put 
her  finger  on  her  lips,  to  enjoin  silence. 

"  Do  not  speak  to  him,  dear  lady,  but  only  let 
him  know  that  you  are  here." 

Beatrice  pressed  her  lips  gently  on  his  forehead, 
and  Mr.  Evelyn  opened  his  eyes,  and  softly  pressed 
her  hand.  He  moved  his  lips  to  speak,  but  he 
could  not  do  so. 

tc  God  bless  you,  my  own  dear  Papa,"  whispered 
Beatrice,  in  a  voice  trembling  from  suppressed 
emotion,  "  what  shall  I  do  for  you  2  If  you  could 
only  make  me  some  sign  to  tell  me  if  you  are  suf- 
fering pain  or  not !" 

Mr.  Evelyn  shook  his  head.  Shortly  after  he 
joined  his  hands  in  the  attitude  of  prayer,  and  nod- 
ded to  Beatrice — she  understood  that  he  wished  her 
to  pray,  and  she  knelt  softly  down  by  the  side  of 
the  bed  ;  Mrs.  Moore  knelt  too,  and  that  prayer 
F.eemed  to  comfort  all  their  hearts ;  and  on  Mr. 
Evelyn's  face,  when  they  arose,  there  was  an  ex- 


DOCTOR  MASON.  125 

pression  of  happiness,  and  holy  resignation.  Bea- 
trice sat  down  quietly  to  await  the  doctor's  coming; 
her  heart  was  very  sad ;  she  felt  as  though  her  dear 
father  were  about  to  be  taken  from  her — and  how 
should  she  bear  it  ?  alone,  away  from  home,  in  a 
foreign  land. 

Once  there  came  a  gentle  tap  at  the-  door;  it  was 
Blanche,  who  had  been  sent  by  Madame  de  Tremon- 
ille  to  inquire  after  Mr.  Evelyn.  Beatrice  gave  her 
a  message  to  take  to  her  aunt,  and  her  voice  trem- 
bled as  she  did  so. 

Blanche  looked  very  much  awed  at  the  sight  of 
Beatrice's  grief.  She  longed  to  throw  her  arm8 
round  her  neck  and  comfort  her,  but  she  felt  a  child's 
instinctive  reverence  for  sorrow,  and  she  only  stood 
patiently  and  sadly  awaiting  the  answer,  and  then 
glided  noiselessly  along  the  passage. 

The  doctor  arrived  shortly  after,  and  when  he  left 
her  father's  room,  Beatrice  waited  for  him  in  the 
veranda.  "  Doctor  Mason,"  said  she,  "  will  you  tell 
me  candidly  and  sincerely  if  we  have  reason  for 
alarm  ?" 

"My  dear  young  lady,  I  should  think  it  false 
kindness  were  I  to  hide  from  you  the  real  state  of 
the  case.  Your  father  will  rally,  I  expect,  in  a  day 
or  two,  and  he  may  linger,  perhaps,  for  some  weeks, 
but  longer  than  that  you  may  not  hope  to  have  him 
with  you.  He  has  not,  naturally,  a  very  strong 


126  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

constitution,  and  this  severe  cold  has  settled  on  his 
lungs  in  too  dangerous  a  form,  to  be  materially  alle- 
viated by  the  change  of  climate.  Such,  I  aui  sorry 
to  say,  is  the  truth,  since  you  ask  it  from  me." 

Beatrice  felt  ready  to  sink  under  the  blow  of  the 
intelligence,  but  she  commanded  her  voice  sufficient- 
ly to  reply:  "  Thank  you ;  it  is  far  better  that  I  should 
know  the  worst." 

"  Do  not  hesitate  to  send  for  me  at  any  hour  of 
the  day  or  night,  when  I  may  be  of  use,"  said 
Dr.  Mason,  as  he  mounted  his  horse.  "  Good -by, 
young  lady,  pray  remember  to  keep  your  father  as 
quiet  as  possible." 

Beatrice  went  into  the  drawing-room  to  seek  Ma- 
dame de  Tremonille.  She  found  her  engaged  in 
writing,  and  said  to  her :  "  Isabelle,  I  have  just  seen 
the  doctor,  and — " 

"  "Well,  dear,  and  what  is  his  report  ?"  said  Ma- 
dame de  Tremonille,  tenderly,  laying  down  her  pen 
as  she  spoke. 

Beatrice  laid  her  head  on  her  friend's  shoulder 
and  burst  into  tears.  Madame  de  Tremonille  suf- 
fered her  to  weep  uninterruptedly  for  a  minute  or  so, 
and  then  said,  in  a  whispered  voice:  "  Do  not  worry 
yourself  to  tell  me,  dear  Beatrice,  I  can  see  how  it  is. 
May  the  Lord  comfort  you,  my  dear  girl,  under  this 
great  trial.  Lean  on  Him  in  your  weakness,  dear 
Beatrice." 


THE  SCOTCH  MINISTER.  127 

"I  do — I  will,"  sobbed  she,  "but  oh!  my  dear 
Papa,  what  shall  I  do  without  him  ?" 

As  the  doctor  had  expected,  Mr.  Evelyn  was  con- 
siderably revived,  the  following  day,  and  was  soon 
able  to  be  wheeled  to  the  porch  door,  in  an  easy- 
chair,  to  enjoy  the  cool  sea-breeze  ;  but  it  was  like 
the  flickering  flame  of  a  candle,  about  to  expire. 
Some  days,  he  would  appear  tolerably  well,  and  be 
able  to  talk  with  his  daughter,  for  some  time  together, 
but  at  night,  his  cough  was  unceasing,  and  he  was 
scarcely  able  to  lie  down  at  all,  but  was  propped 
up  in  his  bed  with  pillows. 

Beatrice  was  with  him,  as  much  as  possible,  but 
she  found  Mrs.  Moore  a  most  valuable  assistant. 
During  Mr.  Evelyn's  illness,  he  was  frequently 
visited  by  Mr.  Campbell,  the  young  Scotch  minister, 
of  whom  we  have  spoken  before.  Their  intercourse 
was  a  source  of  mutual  gratification ;  in  Mr.  Eve- 
lyn, Mr.  Campbell  found  an  experienced  Christian, 
ripened  for  eternity,  and  one  to  whose  matured 
judgment  he  could  look  for  advice,  in  his  min- 
isterial difficulties;  and  Mr.  Evelyn  was  delighted 
with  the  freshness  of  heart — the  simple  faith,  and 
earnestness  of  the  young  minister. 

Sometimes,  when  Mr.  Evelyn  was  strong  enough 
to  bear  it,  the  whole  household  would  assemble  in 
his  room,  while  Mr.  Campbell  expounded  a  chapter 
in  the  Bible,  and  prayed — and  these  were  sweet  and 


128  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

solemn  occasions,  the   influence  of  which  was   felt 
by  all. 

Late  one  afternoon,  Mr.  Evelyn  was  sitting  in  an 
easy-chair  near  his  bedroom  window;  Beatrice  was 
at  work  near  him ;  the  sun  was  just  setting,  and  aa 
he  gazed  at  its  departing  glories,  Beatrice  saw  his 
lips  move  in  prayer :  she  thought  of  those  beautiful 
lines  of  Feabody's — 

"  Behold,  the  western  evening  light, 

It  melts  in  deepening  gloom. — 
So  calmly,  Christians  sink  away, 
Descending  to  the  tomb." 

Her  father  knew  that  death  was  approaching,  but 
for  him,  he  was  no  King  of  terrors.  He  had  been 
taught  by  faith,  to  overcome  the  dread  which  our 
poor  human  bodies  feel,  at  the  thought  of  corruption, 
and  his  spirit  longed  to  be  with  its  Saviour. 

"  My  Bee/'  he  said  at  length,  "  I  sometimes  seem 
to  feel  your  dear  mother's  spirit  so  near  to  me,  it 
seems  as  though  I  could  almost  hear  her  speaking. 
I  feel  so  this  evening  —  I  feel  as  though  she  were 
about  to  welcome  me  to  that  happy  land,  whither 
she  has  gone  before.  <My  Mary,'  he  continued, 
closing  his  eyes  with  a  dreamy  look,  'I  shall  soon 
come  to  thee,  to  part  no  more  for  eternity  I  It  is  but 
a  short  journey — a  little  stage — and  I  shall  be  on  the 
other  side.'  O!  my  Saviour,  I  thank  thee,  that 
thou  hast  taught  me  to  love  and  know  thee.  I 


DYING  rssTKrc-noxs:  129 


bless  thee,  that  I  can  say,  them  art  my  Redeemer. 
1  Lord,  when  shall  I  behold  thy  face,  and  stand 
complete  in  righteousness  !'  My  own  Bee  —  my 
darling  child  —  come  and  kiss  me.  I  leave  yon  and 
Hetty  to  the  care  of  your  heavenly  Father  ;  I  thank 
Him  that  you,  my  child,  have  given  your  heart  to 
Him  ;  oh  !  watch  over  your  sister  with  a  mother's 
care  —  she  is  often  impulsive,  and  thoughtless,  but 
careful  attention  and  guidance  will  do  much.  My 
Bee,  when  you  and  Walter  are  married,  do  not  let 
your  sister  leave  you  ;  she  would  not  be  happy,  in 
New  York,  with  her  aunt.  I  have  provided  for  the 
latter  in  my  will,  so  that  she  will  not  be  a  burden  on 
you  ;  and  to  my  two  dear  children,  with  but  a  few 
trifling  exceptions,  I  leave  the  rest  of  what  I  possess. 
I  feel  sure,  that  some  way  will  be  provided  for  you, 
to  leave  this  island,  but  till  that  time,  I  know, 
Madame  de  Tremonille  will  give  you  a  home 
Kere—  " 

Beatrice  had  risen,  and  stood  motionless  behind 
his  chair,  the  tears  streaming  down  her  face,  but 
she  would  not  interrupt  the  precious  words  of  her 
dying  father  with  any  sudden  outburst  of  grief. 
She  controlled  herself  to  say  : 

"Dear  Papa,  all  shall  be  as  you  wish  —  I  will 
take  care  of  Hetty." 

"  Do  you  think  Mr.  Campbell  will  be  here  this 
evening,  dearest?"  said  Mr.  Evelyn;  "  I  should 


130  GREATNESS  IN  LITJTLE  THINGS. 

like  to  see  him  once  more  before  I  die.  I  feel  as  if 
I  could  encourage  him  to  hold  on.  O  !  the  prize  is 
worth  contending  for !  I  feel,  I  feel  it  is." 

"  Shall  we  send  and  tell  him,  dear  Papa  ?"  said 
Beatrice ;  "  I  can  send  Nelly  over  to  the  Manse,  if 
you  wish  it  ?" 

"  Do  so,  love ;  I  feel  I  have  not  long  to  be  with 
you,  my  Bee." 

"  Dear  Papa,  oh !  why  do  you  say  so  ?  you  do  not 
look  worse,  this  evening,  than  you  have  done  of  late. 
I  am  sure,  if  you  lie  down,  you  will  feel  better." 

Her  father  looked  up  at  her,  and  there  was  on  his 
face  such  an  expression  of  death,  and  yet  of  holy 
calm,  that  Beatrice's  countenance  changed  —  the 
color  left  her  face,  and  laying  her  head  on  his  shoul- 
der, she  burst  into  tears.  O !  Papa,  Papa !"  she 
sobbed,  "  what  shall  I  do  without  you  ?" 

"  God  comfort  you,  my  own  best  child  ;  do  not 
grieve — I  am  so  happy,  and  our  separation  is  but 
for  a  little  while." 

Beatrice  made  no  reply — she  lay  perfectly  still  for 
a  few  moments,  and  then  glided  softly  out  of  the 
room  and  went  in  search  of  Madame  de  Tremonille, 
to  whom  she  expressed  her  father's  wish  to  see  Mr. 
Campbell.  Nelly  was  instantly  dispatched  for  him, 
and  Beatrice  sat  down  on  the  sofa  by  her  friend's 
Bide,  and  told  of  all  her  father  had  just  been 
Baying. 


THE  ARRIVAL.  131 

"  lie  seems  to  feel  his  end  near,"  continued  she ; 
"  and  oh !  I  have  been  convinced  of  it,  for  the  first 
time,  myself:  he  seemed  to  rally  so  often,  I  could 
not  fancy  that  the  dreaded  hour  was  so  near.  But 
oh !  Isabelle,  is  it  not  glorious  to  see  how  a  Chris- 
tian can  die  !  My  dear  father !  he  seems  so  happy. 
He  seems  to  long  to  be  with  Jesus." 

"  Yes,  dear  Beatrice,  such  an  instance  of  triumph- 
ant faith  is  very,  very  precious  to  other  Christians. 
It  shows  them  that  what  they  are  striving  after  is  not 
a  myth,  a  phantom,  a  dream ;  but  a  certainty,  suffi- 
cient to  uphold  and  comfort,  when  passing  through 
the  dark  valley.  I  feel,  dear  Beatrice,  what  a  tie 
there  is  between  Christians.  I  esteem  it  an  honor 
to  have  entertained,  in  my  house,  one  so  ripe  for 
eternity  as  your  father." 

Beatrice  kissed  her,  and  a  smile  shone  through 
her  tears  as  she  did  so. 

Just  then  the  clatter  of  a  horse's  hoofs  was  heard 
coming  up  the  avenue.  It  was  Dr.  Mason,  and  they 
heard  him  pass  through  the  veranda,  and  along  the 
passage  to  Mr.  Evelyn's  room. 

"  Stay,  dear  Beatrice,"  said  Madame  de  Tremon- 
ille,  rising,  "  I  will  just  go  into  the  kitchen  and  tell 
Pomio  to  station  himself  in  the  porch  and  watch  for 
the  doctor's  going  out,  that  he  may  come  in  and  tell 
us  the  report." 


132  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

During  this  time,  Blanche  had  been  sitting  in  a 
niohe  of  the  window,  half-shaded  by  the  muslin 
window-curtain ;  Beatrice  was  first  aware  of  her 
presence  by  hearing  a  low  sob  proceeding  from  the 
opposite  end  of  the  room,  and  looking  up,  she  saw 
Blanche  sitting  with  her  face  between  her  hands, 
crying  bitterly.  "  Blanche,  dear  child,  come  here," 
said  Beatrice. 

A  tearful  little  face  it  was  that  was  raised  at  hei 
call,  but  springing  forward,  Blanche  threw  her  arm? 
round  Beatrice's  neck  and  wept  afresh. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear  Blanche  ?"  said  Bea- 
trice, gently  kissing  her. 

"  O  !  dear  Beatrice,  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  so 
unhappy ;  it  is  so  dreadful  to  hear  you  cry,  and  1 
have  just  seemed  to  walk  about,  lately,  and  be  near 
you,  and  yet  I  dared  not  ask  you  how  you  felt,  01 
how  dear  Mr.  Evelyn  was,  and  you  never  seemed  te 
speak  to  me  yourself — so  I  was  afraid  to  trouble 
you." 

"  Dear  child !  forgive  me,"  said  Beatrice — "  I 
know  I  ought  to  have  spoken  more  to  you,  but  I  was 
thinking  so  much,  you  know,  of  dear  Papa;  you 
must  not  think  me  unkind  —  I  did  not  mean  tc 
be  so." 

"  Oh!  no,  no,"  said  Blanche,  earnestly  ;  "  I  kmm 
you  would  never  do  anything  unkind,  but  I  did  so 


ME.  CAMPBELL.  133 

long  for  a  word  from  you ;  and  then  when  you  came 
and  cried  so,  talking  to  Mamma,  why,  I  could  not 
help  crying  too." 

"  Well !  now,  sit  quietly  here  on  my  knee,  dear ; 
I  cannot  talk  much  now,  for  I  am  very  anxious  to 
'know  what  Dr.  Mason  thinks  of  dear  Papa.  Here, 
rest  your  head  against  my  shoulder,  and  we  will 
wait  together." 

Madame  de  Tremonille  looked  anxious  too ;  her 
work  dropped  from  her  fingers,  and  she  sat  alter- 
nately looking  at  the  door  and  at  Beatrice.  In 
another  minute  or  two,  came  a  gentle  tap  at  the 
door,  and  a  gentleman  entered — it  was  Mr.  Camp- 
bell. Madame  de  Tremonille  rose  to  shake  hands 
with  him,  and  whispered  a  few  words  to  him,  ex- 
plaining the  state  of  the  case,  and  then  they  ad- 
vanced to  the  sofa,  and  Beatrice  roused  herself  to 
welcome  him. 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  so  bad  an  account  of  your 
father,  Miss  Evelyn,"  said  Mr.  Campbell,  seating 
himself — "  at  least,  sorry  for  your  sake ;  for  himself, 
we  cannot  but  rejoice  that  he  hopes  so  soon  to  be 
free." 

Beatrice  made  a  gesture  of  assent,  but  she  did  not 
trust  herself  to  speak. 

"  I  had  just  come  from  seeing  old  Joe  Ward," 
said  Mr.  Campbell,  turning  to  Madame  de  Tremon- 
ille, "when  your  little  messenger  arrived.  He  is 
9 


134:  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

lingering  long,  but  he  is  very  resigned  and  happy ; 
have  you  seen  him  lately  ?" 

"  I  was  there  only  the  day  before  yesterday,"  was 
the  reply.  "  He  is  a  remarkable  instance,  I  think, 
of  the  truth  of  that  saying  of  our  Saviour — '  He  hath 
hid  these  things  from  the  wise  and  prudent,  and  has 
revealed  them  unto  babes?  What  advantages  of  in- 
struction and  education  has  this  poor  old  negro  had  ? 
and  yet  he  has  as  deep  an  experience  in  the  things 
of  God,  and  as  intimate  a  communion  with  Him,  as 
the  most  learned  and  talented  could  have.  I  am 
sure  it  has  often  astonished  me,  when  sitting  by  his 
side,  to  perceive  the  depth  of  his  acquaintance  with 
both  the  words  of  the  Bible  and  their  spiritual 
meaning." 

"  O !  old  "Ward  has  been  a  Christian  for  many 
years,  and  living  so  near  God,  he  has  learned  to 
know  something  of  Him." 

Pomio  now  softly  opened  the  door,  and  ushered 
in  Dr.  Mason.  As  he  advanced  and  greeted  the 
party,  Mr.  Campbell  asked  him  how  he  found  Mr. 
Evelyn,  for  Beatrice  dared  not  speak. 

"  I  find  him  advanced  a  long  way  upon  his  jour- 
ney," was  the  reply — "  he  is  almost  on  the  river's 
brink." 

"  How  ?  Doctor,  is  it  indeed  so  near  ?"  said  Ma- 
dame de  Tremonille,  gently. 

"I  may  not  tell  you  otherwise — the  shadow  of 


THE  BENEDICTION.  135 

this  night  will,  I  think,  be  the  shadow  of  the  valley 
of  death  for  him,  and  the  morning's  dawn  shall 
usher  in  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  which  knows  no 
setting." 

Beatrice  gave  a  convulsive  shudder,  but  hid  her 
face  against  Blanche's  shoulder. 

"  Young  lady,"  said  the  doctor,  going  up  to  her — 
"I  must  now  go,  for  I  have  a  patient  waiting  for 
me ;  but  let  me  tell  you  one  thing.  I  have  found  it  a 
blessing  to  attend  upon  your  dear  father.  I  feel  my 
own  hopes  'brighter  and  my  faith  more  settled. 
Good-by!  God  bless  you!" 

Beatrice  pressed  his  hand.  After  a  few  moments' 
silence,  Beatrice  looked  up — "Oh  !"  she  said,  "  this 
is  sudden — is  it  not?  I  little  thought  it  was  so 
near!  Dear  Papa!  I  must  go  to  him,  and  not  lose 
the  precious  moments  that  are  left." 

Mr.  Evelyn  was  lying  quietly  in  bed,  when  Bea- 
trice entered ;  she  went  up  and  threw  her  arms 
round  him,  saying — "  Oh!  Papa,  Papa!" 

"My  child!"  said  Mr.  Evelyn,  "the  messenger 
has  come  at  last.  I  shall  soon  have  done  with  pain, 
and  care,  and  sorrow.  Look  up,  my  Bee !  look  up ! 
it  is  all  bright !" 

'^1  will!  Papa,  I  will!"  sobbed  she;  "but  the 
parting  is  hard." 

"  Heavenly  Father !"  murmured  the  dying  man, 
"  to  Thy  protection  I  leave  this  dear  one.  Hide  her 


136  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

under  the  shadow  of  thy  wings,  O  Lord !  A  father's 
fondest  blessing  rest  on  thee  and  thy  sister,  iny 
child  !"  There  was  a  pause. 

"Is  Mr.  Campbell  here,  love?" 

"  Yes !  Papa,  he  is  in  the  drawing-room  with 
Madame  de  Tremonille  and  Blanche." 

"  Tell  them  all  to  come,  I  want  to  see  them  once 
more  before  I  die." 

Beatrice  found  Mrs.  Moore  waiting  in  the  pas- 
sage, and  telling  her  to  summon  them,  she  returned 
to  her  father's  room,  and  sitting  down  on*  a  low  chair, 
she  hid  her  face  against  the  bed. 

Mr.  Evelyn  held  out  his  hand,  as  his  friends  came 
softly  into  his  room  —  and  it  was  gently  pressed  by 
each  of  them.  They  stood  around  his  bed. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  he  to  Mr.  Campbell,  "fight 
the  good  fight  of  faith ;  do  not  be  discouraged.  I 
find  how  blessed  is  the  reward ;  strive  to  gather  in 
souls  to  Christ — to  be  zealous  in  his  cause,  and  He 
will  strengthen  your  hands.  We  shall  meet  above ! 
God  bless  you !" 

"  To  you,  dear  Madam,"  said  he,  turning  his  eyes 
on  Madame  de  Tremonille,  "  let  me  offer  my  sincere 
thanks  for  all  your  kindness  to  me  and  my  daughter 
since  we  have  been  here.  God  will  bless  you  for  it; 
you  are  still  young,  —  work  for  Christ.  You  have 
lost  your  dearest  earthly  friend ;  let  this  knit  your 
heart  closer  to  Jesus,  I  ask  you  to  take  care  of  my 


DEATH-BED  PRAYER.  137 

daughter,  till  her  friends  in  America  shall  provide 
an  escort  for  her — I  know  you  will  do  this  for  a  fel- 
low Christian. 

"  What  I  have  done  or  can  do  for  her,  I  feel  to  be 
nothing,"  was  the  reply ;  "  my  house  shall  be  her 
home  as  long  as  ever  she  chooses  to  make  it  so." 

"Thank  you;  the  blessing  of  a  dying  man  rest 
on  you." 

"  Blanche,  dear  little  one,  follow  Christ ;  give 
Him  your  whole  heart  now,  when  you  are  young. 
Be  a  comfort  to  your  adopted  mother,  and  repay  her 
kindness.  The  Lord  bless  you ! 

"  Let  widow  Moore  and  Pomio  come  in,  and  any 
of  the  others  who  choose.  I  have  a  word  for  them." 

The  servants  collected  in  a  group  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  while  Mr.  Evelyn  gave  them  a  parting  charge 
and  benediction,  and  then  Mr.  Campbell  made  a 
movement  with  his  hand,  and  all  knelt  in  prayer. 

Prayer  by  the  bed-side  of  the  dying  believer  has 
something  in  it  peculiarly  solemn.  It  is  the  last 
mutual  intercourse  of  the  survivors  and  the  depart- 
ing, with  that  God  to  whose  care  the  dear  one  is 
about  to  be  intrusted  in  such  a  solemn  manner,  both 
body  and  soul.  Mr.  Evelyn  seemed  exhausted,  at 
the  conclusion,  and  all  left  the  room,  after  a  parting 
shake  of  the  hand,  with  the  exception  of  Beatrice 
and  also  Mrs.  Moore,  who  remained  to  watch  with 
her. 


138  GBEATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

It  was  nearly  eight  o'clock ;  Mr.  Evelyn  fell  into 
a  doze,  and  perfect  silence  reigned  through  the  room. 
Beatrice  rose,  when  she  saw  he  was  asleep,  and 
walked  to  the  window.  It  was  open,  for  the  night 
was  very  warm,  and  as  she  leaned  her  head  out,  the 
fresh  land-breeze  played  on  her  hot  cheeks.  The 
odor  of  the  flowers  came  up  sweetly  from  the  garden 
below;  the  fire-flies  were  dancing  about  among 
the  trees,  and  the  saw-beetle  was  humming  its  mon- 
otonous drone.  A  few  stars  were  appearing,  and 
everything  seemed  to  agree,  in  its  calmness  and 
quiet,  with  the  death -bed  of  a  Christian.  Solemn 
thoughts  of  eternity  filled  Beatrice's  mind,  and  she 
stood,  resting  her  head  on  her  hand,  in  a  kind  of 
mournful  enjoyment.  Once  she  raised  her  head, 
startled,  fancying  she  heard  the  sound  of  falling 
rain,  but  it  was  only  the  wind  rustling  the  dry 
branches  of  the  cocoa-nut  trees. 

After  the  lapse  of  about  half  an  hour,  Mrs.  Moore 
came  and  gently  tapped  her  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Your  Papa  is  awake,  Missy,  and  he  seemed  to 
look  round  for  you ;  do  go  to  him.  And  do  you 
not  think  I  had  better  light  a  candle,  Missy  ?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Moore,  do;  but  do  not  place  it  too 
near — the  light  might  annoy  him." 

Beatrice  walked  up  to  the  bed,  and  took  her  fa- 
ther's hand.  He  pressed  it  slightly,  and  smiled  at 
her,  and  said:  "I  have  no  pain,  love;  Jesus  is  with 


THE  CHRISTIAN  DEATH-BED.  139 

me.  He  makes  my  dying  bed  easy.  Dear  Lord,  I 
come  to  Thee  1" 

After  speaking  at  intervals  for  a  short  time,  he 
seemed  to  doze  again. 

"Mrs.  Moore,"  said  Beatrice,  "how  clear  and 
bright  all  is  with  him!  May  we  find  it  so  at  our 
last  hour." 

"It  is  indeed,  Missy;  'the  Lord  comforteth  the 
souls  of  his  saints ;'  and  he  has  promised  to  be  with 
them  in  the  dark  valley." 

Madame  de  Tremonille  stole  softly  in,  several  times, 
to  comfort  Beatrice ;  once  she  brought  her,  with  her 
own  hands,  a  cup  of  tea,  and  made  her  drink  it ; 
and  again  she  came  and  remained,  while  Mrs.  Moore 
went  out  of  the  room  to  have  her  supper,  that  Bea- 
trice might  not  be  left  alone  in  case  of  Mr.  Evelyn's 
sudden  departure. 

At  eleven  o'clock,  he  again  awoke.  "My  Bee, 
read  to  me  about  Christian  going  over  the  river." 

Beatrice  understood  him,  and  fetching  a  small 
edition  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  which  lay  on  his 
dressing-table,  she  turned  to  the  passage  and  read  it 
in  a  low,  clear  voice. 

"  Thank  you,  love,  I  am  nearly  in  the  river ;  I 
feel  as  though  my  feet  were  touching  its  waters. 
Dear  Saviour,  receive  me !" 

Widow  Moore  raised  the  quilt  and  put  her  hand 
on  his  feet.  They  were  icy  cold.  She  beckoned  to 
12 


140  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

Beatrice,  and  whispesed :  "  He  '11  not  be  kept  long 
waiting  now,  Missy." 

Mr.  Evelyn  seemed  to  lie  in  a  dreamy  state  for 
some  minutes.  Presently  he  spoke  again :  "  I  see 
them !  I  see  the  shining  ones !"  he  said,  faintly, 
"and  my  Mary  is  among  them."  He  spoke  no 
more,  and  about  half  past  two  o'clock,  with  a  gentle 
sigh,  he  breathed  his  last!  Widow  Moore  made  a 
sign  to  Beatrice  that  all  was  over — they  sank  on 
their  knees  in  prayer  —  no  word  was  spoken  — 
they  were  alone  with  the  dead  ! 

In  a  short  time,  Mrs.  Moore  rose  and  said  to  Bea- 
trice: 

"  Missy,  yon  had  better  go  now ;  I  have  some 
things  to  attend  to  here,  and  you  must  try  and  get 
some  sleep." 

Beatrice  shook  her  head,  but  went  out. 

She  walked  along  the  passage  to  Madame  de  Tre- 
monille's  room,  and  knocking  at  the  door,  found  hei 
awake. 

"  Is  that  you,  dear  Beatrice  ?"  she  said ;  "I  have 
been  several  times  to  the  door  to  listen  if  I  could 
hear  your  father's  voice— but  all  was  so  still." 

"  He  is  gone !"  said  Beatrice ;  "we  shall  never 
more  hear  hi&  voice.  Oh !  Papa !" 

"He  is  at  rest,"  said  Madame  de  Tremonille, 
"  Come,  dear,  and  lie  down  by  me." 


THE  CHBISTIAN  DEATH-BED.  141 

Beatrice  could  say  no  more — her  heart  was  too  full 
to  speak — and  putting  her  arm  round  her  friend,  she 
lay  down  by  her  side,  and  wearied,  with  fatigue  and 
watching,  she  fell  toward  morning  into  a  troubled 
doze. 

"  No  voice  in  the  chamber, 
No  sound  in  the  hall ; 
Sleep  and  oblivion 
fieign  over  all." — LONGFELLOW, 


CHAPTER   VII. 

"  Wo  will  be  patient  and  assuage  the  feeling, 

"We  may  not  wholly  stay — 
By  silence  sanctifying,  not  concealing, 
The  grief  that  must  have  sway."— LONGFELLOW. 

AT  sunset  the  following  day,  the  little  funeral 
procession  moved  from  Palm  Hill,  bearing  Mr. 
Evelyn's  earthly  remains  to  their  last  resting-place. 
He  was  laid  in  the  burial-ground  of  the  little  Scotch 
church;  and  Mr.  Campbell  gave  a  touching  and 
solemn  address  to  the  mourners,  among  whom  were 
Mr.  Gisborne,  and  Dr.  Mason,  and  all  Madame  de 
Tremonille's  servants.  Beatrice  did  not  go — she 
had  no  mourning  prepared;  and,  beside,  she  was 
afraid,  lest,  by  not  being  able  to  control  her  feelings, 
she  might  disturb  the  solemnity  of  the  scene.  She 
remained  alone  in  her  room,  engaged  in  prayer. 

The  party  dispersed  after  the  funeral.  Tea  was 
set  in  the  veranda,  and  Madame  de  Tremonille  and 
Blanche  sat  there,  quietly  chatting  together  in  the 
twilight.  There  was  a  sadness  over  little  Blanche's 

spirits,   visible,  in    the   unusual   quietness    of  her 
(  142  ) 


DEPARTED  SPIRITS.  143 

demeanor.  She  brought  a  little  stool,  and  placing  it 
at  her  aunt's  feet,  she  laid  her  head  in  her  lap.  Ma- 
dame de  Tremonille  stroked  her  soft  curls,  and  kissed 
her  fondly ;  but  Blanche  lay  still,  looking  out  into 
the  garden.  "Mamma,"  she  said,  "do  people, 
when  they  are  dead,  know  what  happens  on  earth  ? 
Do  dear  Papa  and  Uncle  Eugene  know  anything 
about  us  ?" 

"My  darling,  I  fully  believe  it.  I  believe  the 
spirits  of  those  we  love,  are  often  near  us.  You 
know  the  spirit,  Blanche,  means  that  part  of  us 
which  thinks  and  feels,  but  which  we  cannot  see ;  it 
is  our  real  selves — for  our  bodies,  you.  know,  are 
only  called  '  tabernacles,'  that  is,  tents  or  coverings, 
for  our  spirits  to  dwell  in.  At  the  last  day,  our 
spirits  will  have  tabernacles  again,  only  they  will  be 
bright  and  beautiful  ones — not  full  of  sickness  and 
pain,  as  these  bodies  are.  Do  you  understand  me, 
darling?" 

"Yes,  Mamma,  I  think  I  do;  but  what  do  you 
mean  when  you  say,  a  spirit  is  in  heaven  ?  A  spirit 
cannot  wear  white  robes,  and  play  on  a  golden 
harp?" 

"  "Well,  dear,  we  are  not  given  to  understand  per- 
fectly the  state  of  the  soul  after  death  ;  but  in  some 
way  or  other,  the  souls  of  believers  are  certainly 
perfectly  happy,  and  with  God.  I  think  that  descrip- 
tion of  the  white  robes,  and  the  palms,  and  the 


144  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

mansions  in  the  heavenly  city,  must  all  refer  to 
what  will  take  place  after  the  judgment  day." 

"  Mamma,  it  is  so  wonderful  to  think  of  our  last- 
ing forever !" 

"It  is  indeed,  my  child ;  the  idea  of  Eternity  is 
beyond  wnat  our  minds  can  grasp.  It  has  been 
illustrated  in  a  most  forcible  manner,  by  an  old 
writer.  He  says :  '  Suppose  a  bird  were  to  under- 
take to  remove  this  whole  earth  to  some  other  place, 
and  this  bird  were  but  able  to  carry  one  single  grain 
at  a  time,  and  that  it  should  take  her  a  thousand  years 
to  fly  to  the  place  where  she  had  to  deposit  it, — that 
when  all  this  earth,  with  its  mountains  and  valleys, 
and  plains,  should  have  been  removed  in  this  man- 
ner, we  should  still  be  as  far  from  the  end  of  eternity 
as  we  were  before  the  bird  began  to  carry  a  single 
grain.'  This  is  the  idea  he  expresses,  though  they 
are  not  the  exact  words." 

"  Mamma,  it  is  almost  too  wonderful !  I  wonder 
that  knowing  this,  does  not  make  people  think  of 
their  souls  more." 

"  My  dear  child,  people  know  many  things  with- 
out believing  them ;  that  is,  without  applying,  that 
knowledge  practically  to  themselves.  They  seem  to 
go  on,  living  in  a  kind  of  dream,  believing  in  their 
head,  that  the  Bible  is  true,  but  their  heart  is 
untouched  by  it,  and  they  wake  up  to  see  their  folly 
when  it  is  too  late." 


BEATRICE'S  RESIGNATION.  145 

"  Mamma,  we  ought  to  try  and  wake  up  as  many 
people  as  we  can,  ought  we  not  ?" 

"Yes!  indeed,  my  darling'  may  God  give  us 
strength  to  do  so — but  now  I  think  I  will  go  and  see 
if  dear  Beatrice  will  join  us ;  poor  girl,  she  must 
feel  so  lonely.  "We  must  try  and  make  her  as  happy 
as  we  can,  while  she  is  with  us,  Blanche." 

"  I  think  I  will  run  out,  before  it  is  too  dark,  and 
get  her  some  flowers,"  said  Blanche — "  they  often  do 
me  good  when  I  feel  sorry."  She  tripped  lightly 
out,  and  Madame  de  Tremonille  looked  fondly  after 
her,  as  the  little  white  figure  disappeared  among  the 
trees,  round  the  corner  of  the  garden. 

There  was  something  too  holy  and  happy  about 
her  father's  death,  for  it  to  be  in  accordance  with 
Beatrice's  feelings  to  yield  to  any  violent  or  exclu- 
sive grief.  She  felt  his  loss  much,  it  is  true,  but 
yet  she  felt  much  calmer  than  even  she  herself  had 
anticipated.  An  hour's  communion  with  God,  had 
made  the  things  of  time,  earthly  sorrows  and  cares, 
seem  as  very  light,  compared  with  the  "  glory  that 
shall  be  revealed."  And  it  was  with  a  heart  nerved 
to  do  her  duty  calmfully  and  trustfully,  and  with  a 
Countenance  serene,  though  not  joyful,  that  she 
walked  to  meet  Madame  de  Tremonille,  when  the 
latter  entered  her  room. 

"  Dear  Beatrice  !"  said  her  friend,  gently  kissing 
her ;  "  do  you  think  you  could  come  and  take  tea, 


146         GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

quietly,  with  little  Blanche  and  me  ?  we  should  be  very 
glad  if  you  would  come,  but  please  yourself  about  it." 

"I  will  come  !"  said  Beatrice;  "I  should  like  it, 
dear  Isabelle.  Come,  let  us  go !" 

"Where  is  Blanche?"  continued  she,  as  they 
reached  the  veranda. 

"  She  will  be  here  in  a  minute ;  she  ran  into  the 
garden  just  now,"  was  the  reply. 

In  two  or  three  minutes,  a  light  footstep  was 
heard  stealing  softly  in ;  it  was  now  so  dark  they 
could  scarcely  see  one  another's  face.  Blanche 
threw  her  arms  round  Beatrice's  neck,  and  said  — 
"  I  have  been  to  fetch  you  something  to  do  you 
good,  dear  Beatrice — smell  these  flowers  !" 
.  "  Thank  you  very  much,  darling,  they  are  just 
what  I  like!" 

"  Blanche !  run  and  tell  Pomio  to  bring  candles 
here,"  said  her  aunt,  "or  else  it  will  not  be  possi- 
ble for  me  to  pour  out  the  tea." 

Candles  were  brought,  and  with  their  coming, 
they  had  to  close  the  jalousies  and  door  of  the 
veranda,  or  otherwise  the  entrance  of  the  light  would 
be  a  signal  for  the  invasion  of  such  a  swarm  of 
moths,  mosquitoes,  and  insects  of  all  kinds,  as  effec- 
tually to  interrupt  conversation. 

After  they  had  seated  themselves  at  the  tea-table, 
Madame  de  Tremonille  said,  in  a  gentle  and  almost 


KIND  CONSIDERATIONS.  147 

hesitating  voice — "I  can  go  early,  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, into  the  town,  and  get  such  things  as  you  may 
require  for  your  mourning,  if  you  wish  me  to  do  so, 
dear  Beatrice.  I  was  thinking  that,  perhaps,  you 
might  not  wish  to  go  yourself,  and  you  can  tell  me 
just  what  you  want." 

Beatrice  understood  her  kind  consideration,  and 
felt  grateful  for  it.  "  Thank  you !"  she  replied,  "  I 
should  be  very  glad  to  have  it  as  soon  as  possible, 
and  I  think  I  had  rather  stay  quietly  here  at  home 
a  little  while ;  beside,"  she  added,  "  I  feel  I  must 
make  up  my  mind  to  write  home  and  tell  them  all 
of—of—" 

She  could  not  finish  the  sentence,  and  laying  her 
head  down  on  her  hands,  her  frame,  for  a  few  min- 
utes, shook  with  convulsive  grief. 

"Dear  Beatrice !"  said  Madame  de  Tremonille, 
softly,  after  a  pause — "had  you  rather  I  should 
write  ?" 

"  No !  thank  you,"  was  the  reply ;  "  I  think  I  will 
write  to  Walter,  and  let  him  break  it  to  dear  Hetty 
and  Aunt  Louisa." 

"  How  soon  do  you  think  you  might  expect  an 
answer  from  them?" 

'•'  In  about  five  or  six  weeks,  I  should  think." 

It  was  then  arranged  that  widow  Moore's  daugh- 
ter-in-law, Lucy,  should  come  to  the  house  for  a  lew 
days  to  assist  in  making  the  mourning,  and  after 
13 


14:8  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

some  further  conversation,  the  servants  were  sum- 
moned to  prayers,  and  the  whole  family  retired  for 
the  night.  Beatrice's  sojourn  at  Palm  Hill,  while 
awaiting  a  letter  from  New  York,  was  made  as  plea- 
sant as  possible  to  her  by  all  her  friends.  Madame 
de  Tremonille's  kindness  was  unceasing;  she  was 
not,  indeed,  one  of  those  who  would  seek  to  banish 
the  loss  of  a  dear  friend  from  the  mind,  by  a  round 
of  amusements — her  good  feeling,  and  her  own  deep 
and  recent  loss,  forbade  this, — but  she  had  so  many 
useful  plans  afloat,  and  had  so  much  life  and  energy, 
that  Beatrice  wao  always  interested  and  occupied, 
and  that  did  much  to  prevent  brooding  over  trouble. 
Among  other  things,  Beatrice  began  to  teach  little 
Nelly,  Pomio's  daughter,  to  read  —  telling  Blanche 
that  she  should  leave  her  under  her  charge  when  she 
returned  to  America.  Nelly  was  an  apt  pupil,  but 
rather  inclined  to  be  lazy ;  she  had  also  an  invinci- 
ble propensity  for  lying — a  habit  but  too  common 
among  the  negro  children  in  the  West  Indies.  She 
always  appeared  to  say  that  which  she  thought 
would  please  the  person  addressing  her,  without  any 
regard  at  all  to  the  truth  of  what  she  was  saying. 
One  day  Madame  de  Tremonille  sent  her  to  Mr. 
Campbell's  house  with  a  message,  and  on  her  return, 
she  described  what  the  minister  was  doing,  and 
entered  so  minutely  into  particulars  as  to  say,  that 
she  found  the  garden-gate  open.  Now  it  appeared 


LITTLE  NELLY.  149 

afterward  that  this  message  was  never  delivered  at 
all,  that  the  child  had  never  been  near  the  house, 
having  gone  off  to  play  in  another  direction,  and 
yet  she  never  hesitated  at  all  in  her  story.  Poor 
Nelly!  her  moral  sense  seemed  exceedingly  dead- 
i  ened,  and  Beatrice  scarcely  knew  what  to  do  with 
her.  She  was  an  affectionate  little  thing,  though, 
after  all.  Her  features,  for  a  negro,  were  not  at  all 
unpleasant ;  she  had  very  bright  sparkling  eyes,  and 
seemed  invariably  to  dress  in  the  brightest  of  pink 
calicoes,  with  handkerchiefs  of  every  variety  of  hue 
tied  round  her  head,  below  which  used  to  escape 
little  plaited  ends  of  frizzled  hair,  tied  with  any 
string  that  could  be  got  hold  of.  Some  of  Nelly's 
ideas  were  very  primitive.  One  day  when  Beatrice 
was  teaching  her  her  lessons,  she  said  to  her : 

"  Missy,  one  woman  tell  me,  to-day,  dat  de  sun 
nebber  shine  in  England,  where  Missis  come  from, 
(pointing  to  Madame  de  Tremonille,  who  was 
working  in  the  room,)  and  dat  when  dey  wash 
clothes,  dey  have  to  dry  '  em  by  the  fire  !  Ha,  ha !" 
and  Nelly  chuckled  at  the  idea  of  the  barbarous 
country. 

Beatrice  and  Madame  de  Tremonille  laughed, — 
the  latter  said:  "  "Well,  Nelly,  I  can  tell  you  that  the 
sun  does  shine  there,  and  very  brightly  too;  but 
there  is  a  time  of  the  year,  called  Winter,  when  it  ia 

cold  and  wet,  and  the  sun  is  not  so  hot,  and  then 
10 


150  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

people  do  really  sometimes  have  to  dry  clothes  by 
the  fire."* 

"  Well,  come,  Nelly,  if  you  are  satisfied,  let  us  go 
on  reading,"  said  Beatrice. 

Mr.  Campbell  often  came  over  from  the  Manse  to 
spend  a  qniet  evening  with  them :  he  was  such  a  su- 
perior young  man  that  his  company  was  always  a 
source  of  pleasure  and  gratification.  He  got  Beatrice 
to  interest  herself  in  several  of  his  plans  for  good, 
among  his  people,  and  asked  her  to  take  a  class  in 
his  school.  One  evening,  about  sunset,  Madame 
de  Tremonille  sent  Nelly  to  ask  him  to  come  over 
and  take  tea  with  them.  Nelly  returned  to  say, 
that  Mr.  Campbell  was  with  old  Joe  Ward,  but  that 
his  servant  said,  she  would  tell  him  when  he 
came  in. 

."  How  long  old  Ward  lingers,"  said  Beatrice. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Madame  de  Tremonille ; 
"  but  I  heard  this  afternoon,  from  Lucy,  that  he 
seemed  very  low  to-day,  and  that  she  thought  he 
could  not  last  long." 

"It  will  be  a  '  happy  release,'  in  the  true  sense  of 
the  word,"  said  Beatrice. 

"  You  may  well  say,  in  the  true  sense  of  the 
word ;  it  often  pains  me  to  hear  persons  thought- 
lessly apply  the  sentence,  when  speaking  of  the  death 

*  Nelly's  character  is  drawn  from  that  of  a  little  negro  servant  of 
the  author. 


OLD  JOE.  151 

of  those  to  whom  their  departure  from  the  body  must 
be  anything  but  a  happy  release — of  those  whose 
happiness  lay  in  this  world,  and  this  world  only. 
But  in  old  Joe's  case  we  have  had  evidence  that 
his  treasure  is  above." 

Just  that  minute  there  came  a  gentle  knock  at  the 
door,  and  Mr.  Campbell  entered.  After  shaking 
hands  with  Madame  de  Tremonille  and  Beatrice, 
he  said :  "  I  have  just  come  from  a  happy  death- 
bed— old  Joe  is  at  rest.  His  little  grand-daughter 
came  to  tell  me,  about  half  an  hour  ago,  that  he 
seemed  very  near  his  end,  and  that  Mrs.  Moore,  who 
was  with  him,  wished  me  to  come  up.  I  had  not 
been  ten  minutes  in  the  house  before  he  breathed 
his  last.  His  senses  seemed  quite  clear  to  the  end, 
and  he  spoke  to  me  several  times. 

"Massa  Campbell,"  said  he,  when  I  came  in, 
"I'm  gwine,  at  last,  to  my  Saviour!  Oh!  dear 
Jesus  I  'm  berry  happy  to  come  to  Thee."  Again, 
he  said,  after  a  pause  of  two  or  three  minutes, 
"Massa  Campbell,  will  you  bury  me  underneath 
dem  large  trees  on  de  side  of  de  hill,  where  I  used 
to  go  fur  to  seek  de  Lord  ?  I  should  like  to  lie  dere." 

I  assured  him  it  should  be  as  he  wished.  The 
trees,  I  believe,  are  on  Mr.  Gisborne's  estate, 
but  I  have  no  doubt  I  shall  be  able  to  arrange  the 
matter  with  him.  A  little  while  before  he  died  he 
said :  "  Tell  Miss  Evelyn,  the  young  lady  at  the  hill, 


152  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

that  I'm  gwine  to  see  her  dear  father,  and  help  him 
to  sing  praises — yes!  help-him — help-him — oh! 
that  will  be  joyful !  joyful !  joyful " — and  giving  a 
sort  of  sigh  of  satisfaction,  his  freed  spirit  was 
away. 

The  tears  stood  in  Beatrice's  eyes  at  this  reference 
to  her  father.  Mr.  Campbell  rose  and  walked  to  the 
window. 

"O!  do  just  look  at  your  little  Blanche,  Madame 
de  Tremonille,"  said  he,  "  how  hard  she  is  working 
at  cleaning  that  flower-bed ;  and  she  seems  to  have 
imbued  Nelly  with  her  own  energetic  spirit  too,  for 
a  time ;  look  at  her  carrying  backward  and  forward 
the  watering  pans  of  water  for  the  plants." 

Madame  de  Tremonille  rose  and  looked  out. 
Blanche  was  kneeling  on  a  piece  of  old  matting,  with 
her  white  frock  carefully  pinned  up  behind,  rooting 
away  among  the  weeds  with  an  old  knife,  with  all 
her  might — occasionally  stopping  to  direct  Nelly's 
energies  in  the  way  of  watering. 

"  Suppose  we  go  and  look  at  the  little  gardener," 
said  Madame  de  Tremonille;  "the  evening  is  de- 
lightful now." 

"Well  done,  Blanche,"  said  Mr.  Campbell,  as  they 
approached;  "if  you  want  to  keep  your  aunt's  gar- 
den all  in  such  pattern  neatness  as  that  plot,  I  think 
you  will  have  to  get  me  to  help  you — the  weeds  grow 
so  very  fast  here,  almost  like  Jack's  bean-stalk." 


THE  GAKDEN.  153 

Blanche  started,  and  then  laughed  merrily  a; 
being  surprised — "  thank  you,  Mr.  Campbell,"  she 
said,  "  when  I  have  anything  very  hard  to  do,  I  will 
send  for  you ;  but,  you  know,  this  piece  is  my  own 
garden,  that  mamma  gave  me  to  take  care  of,  and 
keep  for  myself — the  worst  of  it  is,"  she  continued, 
sighing — "I  cannot  keep  those  tiresome  chickens 
from  coming  in,  and  scratching  up  the  ground,  and 
spoiling  the  looks  of  it." 

"  Well  now,  what  can  be  done  2"  said  Mr.  Camp- 
bell, kindly — "I  have  it.  You  see,  Blanche,  this 
garden  of  yours,  is  a  large  piece,  and  those  trees  at 
the  back  of  it,  with  the  wall  behind,  protect  it  well 
there — now  do  you  not  think,  that  you  and  I  could 
manage  to  put  up  a  nice  little  paling  all  round  it, 
and  a  little  gate  in  front?  Eh !  what  do  you  think 
of  that  plan  ?  and  then  you  might  clip  your  chickens' 
wings,  so  that  they  could  not  fly  over,  without 
hurting  them  at  all — " 

"Well,  that  would  be  a  very  nice  plan,  said 
Blanche  thoughtfully,  but  how  could  I  get  at  the 
bed,  to  tidy  it,  if  the  paling  were  in  the  way  ?" 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Campbell,  "if  your  aunt  will 
give  us  leave,  we  will  inclose  a  slip  of  the  lawn  in- 
side the  paling,  so  as  to  leave  room  for  you  to  walk 
lound  your  garden,  and  we  can  make  a  nice  little 
j.ath  right  up  the  middle." 


154  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"O!  thank  you,"  said  Blanche,  clapping  her 
hands,  "  that  will  be  charming — when  will  you  corne 
and  begin  ?" 

"Well,  to-morrow  evening,  perhaps,  if  I  am  not 
very  busy  ;  if  I  can,  I  will  come  for  a  little  time  in 
the  cool  of  the  morning — only  you  must  promise  to 
be  up  to  help  me — " 

"  Indeed  I  will,  said  Blanche,  I  always  get  up 
rery,  very  early." 

"  I  have  been  getting  some  trellis- work  made,  to 
put  over  the  porch,  at  the  Manse,"  said  Mr.  Camp- 
bell, "  and  some  of  the  pieces  of  lath  which  are  left, 
will  do  capitally  for  our  paling." 

"  Well,  we  will  leave  you  to  your  weeding  now, 
Blanche,"  said  her  aunt,  "let  us  all  go,  and  take  a 
walk  down  the  road,  Mr.  Campbell ;  the  evening  is 
too  pleasant  to  go  in-doors,  yet." 

"  I  suppose,  you  intend  training  creepers  over 
your  trellis-work,  Mr.  Campbell,"  said  Beatrice — 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "I  do  so  love  to  see,  what  is 
beautiful  around  me  ;  I  think,  as  far  as  we  can,  we 
should  surround  our  homes  with  the  lovely  and 
simple  objects  of  nature.  I  often  think  that  the 
appearance  of  a  man's  house  and  garden,  is  a  sort 
of  index  to  his  mind  and  character." 

"  Indeed,  it  is,"  said  Madame  de  Tremonille,  "I 
often  think,  too,  that  without  allowing  our  minds 
to  become  at  all  absorbed  by  the  luxuries  and 


PICTURES  USEFUL.  155 

pleasures  of  this  life,  we  should  be  feelingly  alive 
to  the  perception  of  whatever  is  beautiful.  Whatever 
is  beautiful  is  good ;  that  is,  the  beauty  in  the  cib 
ject,  is  a  sort  of  glimpse  of  perfection — a  revelation, 
a  foreshadowing  from  above — whether  it  is  a  beauti- 
ful landscape,  or  a  lovely  face,  or  even  a  picture  or 
statue,  or  any  other  work  of  art.  "  I  remember 
reading,  I  think  it  was  in  Lord  Lindsay's  '  Christian 
Art,'"  said  Mr.  Campbell,  in  reference  to  some 
of  the  old  masters — some  of  the  finest  painters  the 
world  has  ever  produced — "  that  before  they  began 
to  paint  a  picture,  they  would  kneel  down  and  pray 
to  God,  to  inspire  their  efforts  —  to  help  them  to. 
form  just  conceptions  of  their  subjects,  which  were 
mostly  taken  from  sacred  history.  Now  how  many 
of  their  pictures  seem  to  raise  and  exalt  the  mind, 
when  gazing  at  them.  Look  at  Titian's  '  Last  Supper,' 
or  Michael  Angelo's  '  Judgment,'  or  some  of  Carlo 
Dolci's  exquisite  heads  of  Christ,  and  many  others." 
"  I  remember,"  said  Madame  de  Tremonille, 
"  the  intense  delight  I  experienced,  when  my  pa- 
rents took  me,  while  we  were  staying  in  London, 
previous  to  our  sailing  for  this  country,  to  see  sev- 
eral of  the  best  collections  both  of  pictures  and  sta- 
tuary. To  gaze  thus  on  the  embodied  conceptions 
of  loveliness,  produced  by  the  noblest  souls,  seemed 
to  raise  my  mind  to  a  sort  of  rapture  of  sympathy, 
If  I  may  so  say — " 


156  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"  And  yet,  in  some  of  these  pictures,  we  see  de- 
picted some  of  the  most  disgusting  legends  cf  the 
Romish  Church,"  said  Mr.  Campbell ;  "  look  at 
the  marriage  of  St.  Catharine,  for  instance — that  is 
quite  blasphemous,  I  think." 

"  That  is  very  true,"  replied  Madame  de  Tremon- 
ille,  "  in  many  other  instances.    I  confess,  I  have  felt ! 
displeased  myself,  when  looking  at  some  of  the  pic- 
tures of  the  Virgin  and  Child ;  in  those  especially, 
where  the   Saviour  is  made  a  subordinate   object. 

"  And  -yet,"  said  Beatrice,  "  the  simple  idea  of 
the  Virgin  Mary,  as  the  Mother  of  Jesus,  and  of 
his  being  a  little  helpless  infant,  in  her  lap,  is  so 
beautiful,  that  I  do  not  wonder  at  its  having  been 
chosen  as  a  subject  for  painting  some  of  the  Madon- 
nas; Raphael's  especially  seem,  from  the  prints  I 
have  seen  from  his  pictures,  to  be  represented  as 
lost  in  love  and  adoration  for  the  holy  Infant, — 
which  is  as  it  should  be.  Look  at  the  '  Vierge  de 
la  Chaise,'  for  instance,  where  the  attention  both 
of  the  Virgin  and  the  young  John  the  Baptist,  seems 
entirely  centered  in  the  Divine  Child." 

"That  is  true,"  said  Madame  de  Tremonille,  "I 
think  we  should  try  and  admire  whatever  is  good 
and  beautiful  in  every  picture,  and  condemn  all  that 
is  erroneous  and  discordant — if  our  minds  are  true 
and  right  toward  God,  we  shall  be  enabled  readily 
to  discern  what  is  of  Him,  and  what  is  not." 


THE  PKETTY  IDEA.  157 

"  You  are  very  right,"  replied  Mr.  Campbell ;  "I 
remember  that,  when  reading  the  book  I  referred  to, 
(Lord  Lindsay's  Christian  Art,)  I  saw  that  some  — 
indeed,  I  may  say  very  many — of  the  legends  which 
furnished  subjects  for  pictures,  consisted  of  fabulous 
stories  invented  by  the  Romish  priests,  and  which 
were  calculated  to  do  a  great  deal  of  harm.  Some 
of  them,  however,  contained  ideas  of  much  beauty. 
I  remember,  now  we  speak  of  it,  one  of  them,  which 
mentions  Mary  Magdalene  as  having  existed,  after 
the  death  of  our  Lord,  in  a  state  of  such  holiness 
and  happy  calm  of  soul,  that  she  was  filled  with 
love  to  God  in  such  a  degree,  that  it  served  her  both 
for  meat  and  drink,  and  she  retired,  sustained  by 
that  alone,  to  a  desert  place,  to  hold  communion 
with  her  risen  Lord.  The  idea  struck  me  as  a 
pretty  one,  and  I  remember  versifying  it,  during  a 
leisure  hour,  while  I  was  a  student." 

"  Could  you  remember  the  words,  Mr.  Camp- 
bell ?"  said  Beatrice. 

"  I  think  I  can.  I  will  repeat  them  to  you,  if  you 
will  listen  so  long : 

"  She  shone  in  the  desert,  a  form  of  light, 
That  maid  rob'd  in  vesture  of  purest  white; 
In  the  wide  sandy  waste,  in  the  sulphurous  air, 
How  might  one  so  beautiful  harbor  there  ? 

"  Tne  fierce  summer-sun,  in  its  noontide  blaze, 
Only  poured  all  around  her  its  softest  rays; 


158  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

Which  lingered  and  glanced,  as  if  fain  to  tell, 

They  ne'er  should  meet  aught  they  could  love  so  well. 

"  Not  a  palm-tree  waved  'gainst  the  lurid  sky, 
Save  the  cluster  that  grew  o'er  her,  dark  and  high, 
Not  a  single  green  leaflet  its  nurture  found, 
Not  a  gurgling  brook  laved  the  thirsty  ground: 

"Yet,  in  calm  peace,  she  rested,  nor  faded  away, 
As  beauteous  at  eve  as  at  breaking  of  day; 
And  the  meat  she  was  fed  with,  was  heavenly  love, 
Tuned  softly  from  gold  harps  of  angels  above. 

"  And  every  morn,  at  the  sun's  rising  hour, 
Lest  her  spirit  should  faint  'neath  its  fierce  noontide  power, 
Lo!  a  group  of  bright  messengers  bore  her  on  high, 
And  a  seraph's  spread  wing  was  her  canopy. 

"  In  the  shadowy  region  where  mystery  has  birth, 
"Where  it  scarcely  seems  heaven,  yet  oh!  't  is  not  earth; 
She  listened,  entranced,  to  that  ravishing  strain, 
And  her  sprit's  love  bloomed  into  brightness  again. 

"  So  again,  when  the  sun,  'neath  yon  broad  line  of  saud, 
Had  left  to  cool  shadows  the  thirsty  land; 
And  pillowed  on  ether  the  soft  clouds  lay, 
Or  stretched  into  nothingness  far  away: 

"  Ol  how  her  blest  hours  all  in  rapture  flew  by, 
With  a  heart  tuned  to  praise,  and  her  God  ever  nigh; 
What  to  her  •were  the  sun's  beams  or  shadows  of  night, 
With  a  spirit  thrilled  through  with  ecstatic  delight  I 

"  And  ever  anon  her  tranced  lips  moved  slow, 
As  if  conning  some  melody  sweet  and  low; 
Which  was  tuned  to  her  ear  by  the  spirits  on  high, 
In  strairs  of  divinest  harmony. 


CONTEMPLATION.  153 

"Thank  you,"  said  Madame  de  Tremonille,  "I 
like  that  idea  of  calm,  contemplative  love.  It  seems 
to  give  one  some  faint  conception  of  the  state  of  the 
glorified  body  after  the  resurrection.  I  suppose  the 
sensations  of  rapture  will  be  such  that  a  thousand 
years  will  be  as  one  day." 

"  I  remember,"  replied  Mr.  Campbell,  "  seeing 
that  thought  beautifully  illustrated  in  a  poem  by 
Trench,  called,  I  think,  '  The  Monk  and  the  Bird.' 
He  represents  the  Monk  as  doubting  the  possibility 
of  perfect  happiness  in  a  future  state,  without  some 
variety  of  employment.  Walking,  one  day,  in  a 
wood,  God  causes  him  to  hear  a  bird  singing  such 
ravishing  notes  that  he  is  spell-bound,  and  when  he 
returns  home  to  his  brother-monks,  he  finds  that  he 
has  been  years  absent — that  they  have  become  old 
men  while  he  was  listening  to  the  exquisite  song,  so 
lost  in  admiration  as  not  to  perceive  the  flight  of 
time.  I  cannot  remember  the  verses,  but  this  is  the 
sense  of  them." 

"  I  think,"  said  Beatrice,  "  that  although  it  would 
not,  of  course,  be  right  for  us  to  retire  entirely  from 
the  world  and  give  ourselves  up  to  contemplation 
and  prayer,  as  God' has  given  each  of  us  a  duty  to 
perform  in  this  life;  yet  still,  a  near  approach  to 
this  feeling  of  which  yon  have  been  speaking,  is 
sometimes  attained  by  experienced  Christians  when 
engaged  in  prayer.  I  remember  a  nurse  we  had, 


160  GREATNESS  IK  LITTLE  THINGS. 

when  I  was  a  child,  who  used  often  to  become  so 
lost  in  prayer  as  to  be  entirely  unconscious  of  any 
outward  objects  —  her  thoughts  would  seem  to  rise, 
she  would  say,  '  right  up  to  heaven.'  She  remained 
with  us  till  I  was  about  fifteen,  and  able  to  converse 
with  her  on  such  subjects.  After  she  left  us,  she 
went  to  live  in  a  small  house  not  very  far  from  ours, 
with  a  brother  who  was  a  widower,  and  I  used  often 
to  go  and  see  her.  She  fell  into  bad  health,  after  a 
time,  and  about  three  years  ago  she  died.  I  remem- 
ber, one  day,  saying  to  her,  *  How  glad  you  will  be, 
Nurse,  to  see  the  Saviour  you  have  loved  so  long !' 
She  said,  impressively:  'Miss  Beatrice,  I  have  seen 
my  Saviour  several  times.  Sometimes  I  have  seemed 
to  get  so  near  to  Him  that  He  has  given  me  a 
glimpse  of  himself.  Yes,  I  feel  I  have  seen  Him.' 
Now,  I  dare  not  call  this  imagination  or  enthu- 
siasm." 

"I  think  you  are  right,"  said  Mr.  Campbell, 
thoughtfully ;  "  it  is  certain  that  the  nearer  a  Chris- 
tian lives  to  God,  the  clearer  is  the  revelation  he 
gives  of  himself." 

"I  am  afraid  we  must  be  going  in  now,"  said 
Madame  de  Tremonille;  "the  dew  is  falling  quite 
heavily." 

"  Mr.  Campbell,"  said  Beatrice,  as  they  entered 
the  house,  "who  is  to  take  charge  of  old  Ward's 
grandchild — she  seems  left  quite  without  friends?" 


EVENING  SOIEEE.  161 

""Well,  she  seems  to  have  found  one  in  widow 
Moore,"  was  the  reply ;  "  she  says,  she  will  take 
care  of  the  little  thing,  to  keep  it  out  of  harm's  way, 
and  Lucy  says,  she  shall  be  glad  to  have  her  to  take 
charge  of  her  baby  while  she  is  sewing.  I  believe 
she  is  a  good  needle-woman,  and  might  earn  a  good 
deal  that  way." 

"  She  is,"  said  Beatrice ;  "  but  I  must  run  into 
the  garden  and  call  Blanche, — that  child  will  catch 
cold  in  her  enthusiasm  for  gardening." 

The  rest  of  the  evening  was  spent  in  pleasant  con- 
versation, enlivened  with  music,  by  both  Madame 
de  Tremonille  and  Beatrice.  The  piano  at  Palm 
Hill  had  been  hired  from  a  Jew  dealer  in  the  town, 
who  kept  a  tolerable  supply — most  of  his  stock  being 
purchased  from  merchants  and  others  leaving  the 
island.  It  was  a  tolerably  good  one,  and  both  our 
friends  had  sweet  voices,  and  sang  duets  together 
delightfully.  Blanche  was  learning  to  play,  Bea- 
trice being  her  music-mistress  for  the  present,  as  she 
insisted  on  taking  the  drudgery  of  teaching  the  rudi- 
ments off  Madame  de  Tremonille's  hands.  Beatrice 
had  brought  a  small  supply  of  new  music  with  her 
from  New  York,  and  this  she  gladly  added  to  her 
friend's  stock,  knowing  that  it  is  difficult  to  procure 
good  new  music  in  the  "West  Indies. 

When  Mr.  Campbell  spent  the  evening  at  Palm 
Hill  he  always  read  prayers  to  the  household,  who 


162  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

were  all  much  attached  to  him — indeed,  so  were  all 
his  people — and  scarcely  a  day  passed  by  without 
some  of  the  negroes  coming  to  his  house  with  an 
offering  of  a  fowl,  some  honey,  or  yams,  or  some 
other  trifle  for  "good  Massa  Campbell." 

The  next  morning,  while  Madame  de  Tremonille 
and  Beatrice  were  sitting  quietly  at  work  in  the 
drawing-room,  chatting  together,  with  little  Blanche 
learning  her  lessons  in  her  favorite  nook,  in  the  win- 
dow, they  heard  the  sound  of  carriage- wheels  coming 
up  the  hill,  and  presently  Pomio  ushered  in  Mary 
and  Caroline  Gisborne.  They  were  lively,  voluble 
girls,  with  plenty  of  fun  and  conversation. 

"My  dear  girls,"  said  Madame  de  Tremonille, 
"  how  could  you  think  of  coming  out  in  this  hot  sun, 
at  this  time  of  day,  in  that  open  phaeton  ?  why  yon 
will  quite  spoil  your  English  complexions." 

"Oil  don't  think  there's  much  of  them  left 
already,"  said  Caroline,  laughing;  "there's  Mary 
there,  as  brown  as  a  berry ;  she  always  persists  in 
rushing  about  the  garden  at  home,  without  any 
bonnet." 

"Bushing  about  the  garden,  Caroline!  why,  what 
nonsense  you  talk,"  said  Mary,  who  had  established 
herself  on  the  sofa  by  Beatrice's  side,  and  had 
thrown  off  her  bonnet ;  "I  only  run  across  to  the 
kitchen  sometimes,  to  give  directions  to  old  Sally, 
or,  perhaps,  to  the  coop,  to  feed  my  chickens ; 


BATHING  PLACE.  163 

and  it  is  not  worth  while  to  dress  one's  self  for 
that." 

"  "Well,  I  have  been  longer  in  the  country  than 
you  have,"  said  Madame  de  Tremonille,  "and  I 
really  advise  you  to  be  careful,  Mary.  I  knew  a 
gentleman,  a  friend  of  my  father's,  who  had  a  sun- 
stroke from  incautiously  exposing  himself  to  the 
heat,  and  he  has  been  weak  in  his  mind  ever 
since." 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Caroline,  laughing,  "  that  will 
quite  account  for  some  of  your  vagaries  of  late, 
Mary ;  you  had  better  take  care  or  you  will  become 
quite  crazy." 

"  Caroline !  how  can  you  be  so  absurd.  I  am 
quite  as  sane  as  yourself,"  rejoined  her  sister. 

"  How  delightfully  cool  and  pleasant  it  is  up  here," 
said  Caroline;  "there  seems  much  more  air  than 
there  is  at  Shady  Grove,  and  you  have  such  a  pretty 
peep  at  the  sea,  too,  from  this  window.  It  looks  so 
bright  and  sparkling  I  sometimes  long  for  a  dip. 
Don't  you  remember  the  fun  we  used  to  have  with 
the  old  bathing- women  at  Hastings,  Mary  ?" 

"  I  know  of  a  delightful  place  for  bathing,  about 
a  mile  and  a  half  from  here,"  said  Madame  de  Tre- 
monille. "  My  father's  church  was  in  that  direction, 
and  in  the  course  of  my  explorations,  before  I  was 
married,  I  discovered  the  place,  and  often  bathed 
there  myself." 
14 


164  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"  Hovr  can  there  be  any  place  for  bathing  only 
a  mile  and  a  half  from  here  ?"  said  Beatrice,  "  I 
thought  we  were  three  miles  from  the  sea." 

"  So  we  are,  in  the  direction  of  the  town  ;  but  if 
you  follow  a  steepish  path  down  the  road  immedi- 
ately behind  this  house,  you  will  see  a  place  where 
the  land  treads  in  considerably,  forming  a  small 
bay,  and  the  sea  is  here  generally  delightfully 
smooth,  and  the  shore  is  protected  by  high  rocks." 

"O!  I'm  sure  the  thing  might  be  managed," 
said  Mary,  gleefully,  "if  we  started  by  five  in  the 
morning,  do  not  you,  dear  Beatrice  ?  and  you  know, 
Caroline  and  I  could  come  up  from  Shady  Grove  on 
our  ponies,  and  then  take  them  with  us  to  help  the 
tired  ones  of  the  party." 

"  Yes !  and  we  will  take  Nelly  with  us  to  help  to 
carry  the  bathing  accouterments,"  said  Madame  de 
Tremonille.  So  it  was  arranged,  and  after  chatting 
some  time  and  taking  lunch  at  Palm  Hill,  Caroline 
and  Mary  left,  promising  to  be  there  punctually  at 
five  the  following  morning. 

"  O !  the  luxuriant  freshness  of  a  morning  in  the 
tropics!"  thought  Beatrice,  as  she  rose  and  looked 
out  of  her  window  just  as  the  gray  dawn  was  break- 
ing next  day — there  was  such  a  delightful  fragranco 
in  the  air — such  a  dewy  calm,  that  it  filled  her  with 
delight.  She  made,  however,  a  hasty  toilette,  for 
she  had  heard  the  sound  of  ponies'  feet  trotting  up 


BATHING.  165 

the  avenue  some  minutes  before,  and  on  passing 
through  into  the  veranda,  she  found  Caroline  and 
Mary  awaiting  her. 

"Well!  Beatrice,  isn't  this  delightful?"  said 
Caroline,  enthusiastically ;  "  you  see  we  have  come 
quite  in  dishabille ;  these  cotton  wrappers  are  capi- 
tal, are  they  not  ?" 

"  Just  the  thing,"  said  Beatrice  ;  "  I  suppose  we 
are  not  likely  to  meet  any  one,  and  I  am  going  to 
take  my  old  American  sun-bonnet,  it  will  be  so  nice 
to  cover  my  wet  hair  as  we  are  coming  home." 

Just  then  Madame  de  Treinonille  joined  them, 
and  after  wishing  all  the  party  good  morning,  she 
said — "  I  have  enlisted  Jeannette's  services  also, 
for  we  shall  want  some  one  to  stand  at  the  entrance 
of  the  path  to  prevent  intruders.  O!  here  she 
comes  with  Blanche  and  Nelly." 

The  road  to  the  shore  was  soon  traversed  ;  being 
all  down  hill,  it  was  easy  work,  and  when  they  arrived 
at  the  spot,  many  were  the  exclamations  of  delight 
and  rapture  which  burst  from  all  lips.  A  low  fringe 
of  trees  skirted  the  shore,  effectually  screening  it 
from  the  road.  Through  these  a  narrow  foot-path 
had  been  made ;  the  rocks  were  uneven,  gradually 
shelving  toward  the  water,  which  rippled  clear  and 
sparkling  at  their  feet.  In  one  place  there  were 
natural  stepping-stones,  forming  an  easy  means  of 
descent,  and  the  water  for  some  twenty  yards  out, 
11 


166  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

was  only  four  or  five  feet  deep,  and  clear  white  sand 
sparkled  at  the  bottom.  It  was  the  beau-ideal  of  a 
place  for  bathing,  and  there  were  screams  of  delight 
from  Mary  and  Caroline.  The  sun  had  not  yet 
risen  and  it  was  delightfully  cool,  and  very  soon 
there  was  a  merry  party  splashing  about  in  the 
water.  Blanche  remained  under  Madame  de  Tre- 
monille's  care,  glad,  indeed,  to  do  so,  being  some- 
what afraid  of  going  out  of  her  depth. 

After  they  had  been  in  a  few  minutes,  Nelly,  who 
was  sitting  on  the  rocks  with  their  clothes,  called 
out  in  a  plaintive  voice — "Missy  Beatrice,  may  I 
come  in  de  water  ?" 

"Well!  Nelly,  perhaps  you  had  better  stay  till 
Jeannette  is  at  liberty,  and  then  you  can  bathe 
together." 

"  Oh !  Missy,  let  me  stay  in  all  de  time,  while 
she  bathe  and  while  you  bathe,  me  can  swim  like 
fish,  Missy." 

"Well!  then,  come  on!"  and  presently  Nelly's 
little  dark  form  was  seen  to  plunge  fearlessly  off  the 
point  of  a  rock  into  some  rather  deep  water  which 
lay  on  the  other  side. 

"  Take  care,  take  care,  Nelly!"  called  Blanche, 
but  the  little  thing  was  splashing  about  in  great  glee, 
and  now  came  swimming  quickly  toward  the  party, 
using  that  peculiar  paddling  motion  common  among 
the  negro  children.  She  soon  ventured  out  to  sea 


THE  SHAEK.  167 

for  a  considerable  distance,  and  the  rest  of  the  party 
forgot  her  for  a  time. 

They  were  amusing  themselves  by  trying  to  float 
and  swim,  when  on  a  sudden  Caroline  Gisborne 
uttered  an  exclamation  in  a  tone  of  horror,  and  stood 
upright  in  the  water ;  her  companions  looked  at  her 
in  amazement,  and  saw  her  turn  very  white  and 
point  with  her  finger  out  to  sea.  Above  the  crest 
of  a  wave  was  to  be  seen  a  dark  object,  slowly  ap- 
proaching the  shore  —  it  was  the  fin  of  an  enormous 
shark.  "  Where  is  Nelly?"  cried  all  voices;  "Nelly! 
Nelly!  child,  swim  for  your  life!"  But  the  poor 
child,  though  she  heard  them,  and  was  several  yards 
nearer  the  shore  than  the  monster,  could  not  move  a 
muscle,  so  paralyzed  was  she  by  terror  at  the  sight 
of  the  shark.  They  saw  it  approach  her,  and  then 
rose  one  long  fearful  scream  from  the  water,  and 
with  a  cry  of  horror,  the  rest  of  the  party  fled  has- 
tily to  the  rocks  for  safety,  though  in  truth,  the 
water  where  they  were  was  too  shallow  for  the  shark 
to  approach  them.  Pale  and  terrified  they  stood  on 
the  rocks,  and  gazed  toward  the  sea ;  the  water  that 
came  rippling  up  toward  them  so  calmly  and  gently 
was  tinged  with  blood — poor  Nelly's  blood  ! — but  no 
further  trace  of  her  appeared,  and  shuddering  with 
horror,  they  all  hastily  began  to  dress. 

"How  shall  we  tell  Pomio,"  said  Madame  de 
Tremonille;  "poor  fellow,  he  will  be  so  shocked!" 


168  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"Has  he  a  mother  living?"  said  Mary  Gis- 
borne. 

"  No  ;  Pomio's  wife  was  cook  in  our  house,  and 
she  died  about  three  years  ago ;  and  the  poor  man 
seemed  so  fond  of  this  little  one." 

"  Dear  me !  to  think  that  this  should  have  been 
the  end  of  our  excursion,  from  which  we  promised 
ourselves  so  much  pleasure,"  said  Caroline,  sighing. 
"  How  horrible !  poor  little  thing !  I  feel  as  if  I 
should  never  forget  that  scream !" 

"It  is  indeed,  dreadful,"  said  Madame  de  Tre- 
monille,  "but  there  is  really  no  danger  in  bathing 
here,  for  any  one  who  does  not  venture  out  to  sea ; 
and  I  believe,  indeed,  that  it  is  a  rare  thing  for  a 
shark  to  approach  so  near  shore,  as  that  monster 
did  to-day." 

Jeannette  had  rushed  forward  to  the  rocks,  when 
she  heard  the  scream,  and  Madame  de  Tremonille 
now  placed  Blanche  on  one  of  the  ponies,  which 
had  been  tied  outside;  and  bidding  her  lead  it  by 
the  bridle,  she  herself  mounted  the  other,  at  the 
urgent  request  of  the  rest  of  the  party,  and  the 
whole  cavalcade  set  sorrowfully  forward.  It  seemed, 
too,  as  if  the  appearance  of  the  morning  had  changed 
with  their  feelings :  dark,  gloomy  clouds  hung 
about  the  horizon,  and  though  the  sun  had  some 
time  since  risen,  his  rays  were  scarcely  visible. 
A.  low  rumbling  sound,  as  of  distant  thunder,  was 


THE  EARTHQUAKE.  169 

heard,  and  there  seemed  a  kind  of  stifling  stillness 
in-  the  air. 

"  I  think  we  had  better  make  haste  home,"  said 
Beatrice;  "look,  Isabelle,  how  dark  the  clouds 'are, 
It  feels  to  me  very  like  a  storm — " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Madame  de  Tremonille,  "we 
must  not  delay  at  all,  these  tropical  showers  come 
on  so  suddenly." 

The  three  girls  quickened  their  pace,  but  none 
of  them  seemed  inclined  for  much  conversation.  A 
little  while  before  they  reached  their  destination, 
when  within  two  hundred  yards  of  Palm  Hill,  they 
all  became  aware  of  a  most  unpleasant  sensation. 
They  were  moving  thoughtfully  along,  when  all 
simultaneously  experienced  a  feeling  akin  to  sea-sick- 
ness, and  looking  at  each  other,  and  the  surrounding 
objects,  they  saw  the  trees  bowing,  as  it  were, 
toward  them,  and  a  neighboring  cottage  shaking. 
The  ponies  stopped,  snorted,  and  trembled  violently 
in  every  joint. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,"  said  Madame  de  Tremon- 
ille,  "it  is  only  a  slight  shock  of  an  earthquake — 
the  principal  force  of  which,  has  doubtless  spent 
itself  in  some  neighboring  island.  But  Beatrice, 
dear,  what  is  the  matter  ?  why  how  pale  you 
look!" 

"  Oh  !  I  only  feel  a  little  dizzy  and  faint,"  was  the 
reply ;  but  before  Mary  and  Caroline,  who  were 


170  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

behind,  could  catch  her,  Beatrice  sank  fainting  on 
the  ground. 

"  Jeannette,"  said  Madame  de  Tremonille,  calmly, 
"  run  into  that  cottage  and  get  some  water  as  quickly 
as  you  can  ;  see,  there  is  the  woman  herself,  at  the 
fence,  frightened  out  of  her  house,  I  suppose,  poor 
creature.  Beatrice  will  be  better  directly,  Mary ; 
it  is  a  common  thing  for  persons  to  feel  in  this  way, 
after  the  uncomfortable  sensation  of  an  earthquake ;  I 
remember  once,  when  I  was  in  the  town,  seeing  sev- 
eral persons  faint  in  the  streets,  on  a  similar  occasion." 

"  Dear  me !  this  does  seem  a  morning  of  dis- 
asters !"  said  Caroline. 

Beatrice  soon  revived,  but  she  appeared  weak, 
and  was  glad  to  accept  a  seat  on  the  pony's  back, 
and  lie  down,  as  soon  as  they  reached  the  house. 

Poor  Pomio  was  greatly  affected  at  the  loss  of 
Nelly,  and  vowed  vengeance  against  the  shark  ;  and 
for  several  days  after,  the  poor  man  might  be  seen 
sitting  on  the  rocks  for  hours  together,  with  an  old 
double-barreled  gun,  watching  an  opportunity  of 
putting  a  bullet  in  the  monster — but  it  never  seemed 
to  venture  near  enough  to  the  shore  again  for  him 
to  get  a  sight  of  it. 

It  was  two  or  three  days  before  the  party  at  Palm 
Hill  could  recover  their  usual  serenity,  or  help  think- 
ing of  poor  little  Nelly's  fate.  The  usual  routine 
of  quiet  occupation  was  followed,  and  nothing  par- 


THE  EXPECTED  LETTEB.  171 

ticular  occurred  for  several  days.  Little  Blanche's 
garden  had  been  inclosed  by  a  neat  paling,  under 
the  joint  efforts  of  herself  and  Mr.  Campbell,  and 
Beatrice  had  taken  several  pleasant  rambles  with 
Madame  de  Tremonille.  In  these  walks,  Walter 
Grey  often  furnished  the  topic  of  conversation.  Bea- 
trice longed,  she  scarcely  could  say  how  anxiously, 
for  an  answer  to  her  letter,  and  it  was  now  fast  ap- 
proaching the  time  when  she  might  expect  to  hear. 
Often,  when  a  ship  appeared  on  the  horizon,  would 
she  gaze  anxiously  through  a  telescope,  to  see  if  the 
"  stars  and  stripes"  floated  from  her  mast-head.  It 
is  anxious  work  waiting,  and  she  found  it  so.  Not 
that  she  was  unhappy  at  Palm  Hill.  She  loved 
Madame  de  Tremonille  and  Blanche  too  tenderly 
for  that,  and  they  did  all  in  their  power  to  make  her 
happy  ;  but  her  heart's  warmest  affections  turned 
naturally  toward  the  husband  of  her  choice. 

Meanwhile,  she  occupied  herself  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, and  that  made  the  time  seem  to  pass  more 
quickly,  and  she  had  many  sources  of  interest 
around  her.  She  amused  herself  with  increasing 
her  collection  of  curiosities,  and  with  watching  the 
habits  and  manners  of  the  natives,  which  interested 
her  from  their  novelty.  It  was  droll  to  see  strings 
of  the  negroes  descending  the  hills  to  the  market- 
town,  driving  before  them  ponies  and  mules  laden 
with  large  panniers  full  of  fruit  and  vegetables, 
15 


172  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

while  they  themselves  followed  on  foot,  carrying 
enormous  loads  of  produce,  of  every  kind,  on  their 
heads.  The  women  wore  short  cotton  gowns,  which 
they  made  still  shorter  by  tying  a  handkerchief 
round  them  a  little  below  the  waist,  and  hitching 
them  up — a  fashion  which  certainly  added  no  ele- 
gance to  their  appearance — while  their  sturdy  black 
legs  and  feet  were  bare,  though  there  were  generally 
shoes  in  their  bundle,  to  be  put  on  when  they 
reached  the  town.  Ofteii  some  of  them  would  turn 
aside,  with  fruit  and  vegetables,  and  bring  them  up 
to  Palm  Hill  for  sale.  But  beside  these  market- 
people,  a  black  woman  of  the  name  of  Simpson  used 
to  come  to  Madame  de  Tremonille's  almost  every 
day,  with  baskets  of  produce  of  all  kinds.  The 
fruits  of  the  country  seemed  very  strange,  at  first,  to 
Beatrice,  and,  with  the  exception  of  the  orange,  she 
thought  them  greatly  inferior  to  those  of  home. 
There  were  abicado-pears,  melons,  pine-apples,  gna- 
vas,  mammy-apples,  and  many  others.  Mrs.  Simp- 
son was  quite  a  character,  and  it  was  amusing  to 
see  the  leisurely  way  in  which  she  would  spread 
out  her  goods  on  the  veranda,  and  sit  and  chat 
about  the  merits  of  each.  She  was  very  black  and 
very  plain,  with  six  or  seven  very  black  and  very 
plain  little  daughters — one  or  two  of  whom  generally 
accompanied  her.  These  children  rejoiced  in  the 
finest  names  possible — there  were  Victoria,  Georgi- 


MKS.  SIMPSON.  173 

ana,  and  "Wilhelmina,  and  a  host  of  others.  Mrs. 
Simpson  seemed  to  think  herself  a  person  of  great 
importance,  and  one  day,  after  she  had  finished  her 
sale,  and  was  passing  along  outside  the  house,  Bea- 
trice and  Madame  de  Tremonille  were  much  amused 
by  hearing  the  following  conversation.  A  carpenter, 
who  was  making  some  repairs  outside,  called  out  to 
her:  "I  say,  good  woman,  how  do  you  sell  your 
oranges  ?" 

"  Woman,  indeed  !  Woman!  woman!"  was  the 
reply,  in  tones  of  increasing  anger.  "  Hi !  me  know 
me  not  man,  sah  !  but  me  lady,  sah  1  Dat  buckra 
man  no  gentleman  for  true !" 
-  Madame  de  Tremonille  told  Beatrice  that  some 
of  these  women  bring  up  their  daughters  in  a  very 
idle,  bad  way,  particularly  if  they  should  be  at  all 
light-colored,  not  allowing  them  to  perform  any 
kind  of  menial  office,  but  doing  all  the  drudgery 
themselves.  She  said,  that  a  little  while  before,  a 
friend  of  hers  in  town  had  sent  for  a  rather  pretty 
mulatto  girl,  who  was  a  dressmaker,  and  after  tak- 
ing her  pattern  and  receiving  the  dress  to  take 
home,  the  young  lady  said  "  she  would  desire  her 
mother  to  call  for  the  parcel  in  the  evening,  as  she 
could  not  think  of  carrying  it  through  the  streets 
herself!" 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  I  love  him — I  trust  in  him, 

He  trasteth  me  alway ; 
And  so  the  time  flies  hopefully, 
Although  he 's  far  away."— BABBY  CORNWALL. 

"  Let  me  not,  to  the  marriage  of  true  minds, 
Admit  impediment ."  SHAESPEABE. 

LATE  one  afternoon,  Madame  de  Tremonille  dis- 
patched Pomio  on  horseback  to  the  town,  to  pro- 
cure several  articles  required  in  the  house,  and  told 
him  to  be  sure  and  call  at  the  post-office,  to  see  if 
there  was  a  letter  for  Beatrice — an  American  ship 
having  been  seen  to  enter  the  harbor  that  morning. 
Beatrice  awaited  Pomio's  return  with  the  greatest 
anxiety ;  and  when  it  became  time  to  expect  him, 
she  could  sit  still  no  longer,  but  stationed  herself 
in  the  porch,  and  stood  looking  down  the  avenue 
in  a  state  of  nervous  suspense.  In  a  short  time, 
(though  it  seemed  long  to  her,)  he  was  seen  trotting 
up  the  hill,  and  Beatrice  caught  up  her  sun-bonnet, 
and  ran  out  to  meet  him. 

"  Any  letter  for  me,  Pomio  ?"  inquired  she,  breath- 
lessly. 

(  174  ) 


THE  LETTER.  175 

"Yes,  Missy,  a  big  letter  from  'Meriky."  And 
Pomio  pulled  forth  the  long-looked  for  treasure  from 
the  bottom  of  his  basket,  carefully  wrapped  up  in 
paper,  and  handed  it  to  Beatrice. 

"  Thank  God !  it  is  from  Walter,"  she  exclaimed ; 
and  tears  of  joy  started  to  her  eyes,  and  she  ran  into 
the  house,  and  on  to  her  own  room,  that  she  might 
read  it  undisturbed.  Her  hands  trembled  as  she 
broke  the  seal.  It  ran  thus — 


"  New  YorJc, . 

"  MY  VERY  DEAR  BEATRICE  : — 

"I  need  not  tell  you.  I  am  sure,  with  what  feel- 
ings of  deep  grief  we  received  the  tidings  of  your 
dear  father's  death ;  and  I  am  sure  you  will  know 
how  much  I  myself  sorrowed  on  your  own  account. 
My  dear,  dear  Beatrice,  how  desolate  you  must  have 
felt,  being  so  far  from  home  at  such  a  sad  time, — 
and  yet,  I  thank  God,  that  He  seems  to  have  raised 
tip  kind  friends  for  you  in  that  distant  land,  in  your 
hour  of  trial.  How  joyful  and  thankful  too,  we 
may  both  feel  at  the  triumphant  and  happy  end  of 
our  dear  father — for  may  I  not  call  him  mine,  too, 
as  he  promised  us  to  each  other  ?  Your  dear  sister 
Hetty  was  very  much  afflicted  when  I  broke  to  her 
the  sad  intelligence.  Poor  child !  she  seemed  so 
bitterly  to  regret  not  having  been  with  you.  Your 
aunt,  too,  seemed  to  feel  it  a  good  deal,  and  I  think 


176  GKEATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

the  tidings  were  quite  unexpected  by  both  of  them  ; 
they  said  your  letters  had  always  been  so  sanguine. 
And  now,  dear  Beatrice,  we  must  get  you  home 
among  us  all  again,  and  that  as  soon  as  possible. 
After  consulting  with  my  father  and  mother,  I  have 
ventured  to  decide  on  the  following  plan,  which  will, 
I  hope  and  trust,  meet  your  wishes.  And  this  is, 
that  I  should  come  and  fetch  you  myself,  there  being 
manifestly  no  one  else  to  undertake  the  charge,  even 
if  I  were  willing  to  let  them.  Now,  my  dear  Beatrice, 
you  will,  I  hope,  understand  that  I  should  not  wish  to 
press  you  unkindly,  or  hurry  you  at  all  unpleasantly, 
so  soon  after  your  great  loss,  but  you  will  perceive 
that  it  would  not  at  all  do  for  us  to  travel  together 
without  being  man  and  wife ;  and,  therefore,  I  en- 
treat you  to  become  mine  as  soon  as  possible,  after 
my  landing  at  St.  Thomas.  May  I  not  reckon  suf- 
ficiently on  your  love  to  feel  sure  that  you  will  not 
refuse  me  this  request  ?  I  know  your  good  sense 
will  see  the  propriety  of  the  arrangement. 

"I  hope  (D.  v.)  to  be  with  you  in  about  a  week 
after  you  receive  this  letter.  I  am  obliged  to  wait  a 
few  days  to  complete  necessary  arrangements  here, 
and  the  ship  in  which  I  have  engaged  a  berth  sails  on 
Monday  week.  I  have  just  got  through  college,  and 
taken  out  my  diploma,  and  I  am,  therefore,  ready  to 
go  down  to  Mill  Town  and  begin  practicing  my  pro- 
fession, whenever  I  shall  have  your  own  dear  self  to 


THE  PKOPOSITION.  177 

accompany  me.  All  here  unite  in  kindest  love  to 
yourself  and  little  Blanche.  God  bless  you,  my 
ever  dear  Beatrice. 

"•  Yours,  with  sincere  love, 

"  WALTER  GREY. 

"  P.  S.  I  inclose  a  little  note  from  Hetty,  and  a 
short  one  from  mamma,  likewise." 

This  letter  Beatrice  read  and  re-read,  while  the 
color  burned  brightly  in  her  cheek,  and  her  hand 
shook  with  emotion.  In  one  week !  one  short  week ! 
should  she  see  Walter  1  O !  it  was  too  much  joy ! — 
and  then,  again,  she  felt  it  was  almost  too  soon,  as 
the  idea  of  the  immediate  marriage  rose  formidably 
before  her  mind,  and  she  was  inclined  to  dislike  the 
arrangement  altogether.  Then,  again,  came  the 
thought — "But  I'm  sure  Walter  would  not  have 
proposed  this  plan  if  it  had  not  been  right  and 
necessary — and  are  we  not  already  promised  to  each 
other  ?"  "  Dear  Walter,"  she  thought,  as  she  again 
looked  at  the  letter,  "how  good  and  kind  he  is." 
Tears  filled  her  eyes,  and  throwing  herself  on  her 
knees  by  her  bed-side,  she  poured  out  her  heart  in 
thankfulness  to  her  heavenly  Father,  and  then  rose, 
and  taking  the  letter  in  her  hand,  she  went  to  seek 
Madame  de  Tremonille.  The  latter  was  in  the 
drawing-room  reading,  when  Beatrice  entered,  and 
on  seeing  her,  exclaimed — 


178  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"  Why,  Beatrice,  dear,  I  was  beginning  to  get 
quite  anxious  as  to  the  contents  of  your  letter.  Po- 
mio  told  me  you  had  received  one,  but  you  have 
been  shut  up  with  it  so  long  my  curiosity  could 
hardly  stand  it.  However,  I  see  my  fears  were 
groundless,"  said  she,  smiling,  and  looking  up  into 
Beatrice's  blushing  face,  which  certainly  wore  no 
very  dolorous  expression. 

"  Well  then,  read  for  yourself,  dear  Isabelle,"  said 
Beatrice,  putting  the  letter  into  her  hands,  "and 
then  tell  me  your  opinion,  as  to  its  contents" — and 
sitting  down  on  the  sofa  by  her  friend's  side,  and 
putting  her  arm  round  her  waist,  she  hid  her  face 
against  her  shoulder  till  she  had  concluded. 

"  I  am  sure  your  Walter  is  right,  dear  Beatrice," 
said  Madame  de  Tremonille,  when  she  had  finished 
the  letter.  "  I  think  it  is  the  very  best  plan  that 
could  possibly  have  been  arranged.  I  need  not  tell 
you  that,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  am  delighted 
with  it:  the  wedding  will  of  course,  take  place  from 
this  house,  and  it  shall  be  conducted  in  such  a  quiet 
way,  as  will  be  consistent  both  with  your  circum- 
stances, and  my  own  My  dear  friend,"  she  con- 
tinued, kissing  her,  ';  I  shall  be  so  glad  to  see  you,  a 
happy  wife,  I  am  only  sorry  to  lose  you  so  soon.'' 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,  for  all  your  kindness," 
whispered  Beatrice,  "you  have  indeed  been  a  kind 
friend  to  me." 


WEDDING  GARMENTS.  179 

," O  !  don't  speak  of  that,  dear  Beatrice,  but  now 
let  us  consider  what  we  have  to  do,  during  the  en- 
suing week.  What  shall  we  have  to  get  ready  for 
you?" 

"O!  I  shalJ  not  want  much,"  said  Beatrice,  "I 
should  not  like,  you  know,  to  leave  off  mourning 
yet ;  indeed  I  think  I  had  better  defer  getting  many 
new  things,  till  I  get  to  New  York. 

"  Well  you  could  certainly  get  them  much  better 
there,  and  it  is  very  inconvenient  traveling  with  a 
large  wardrobe ;  but  just  for  the  occasion,  you  might 
wear  a  simple  white  dress — don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"Yes,  thank  you,"  replied  Beatrice,  "that  will 
be  the  best  plan.  But  I  shall  want  to  draw  on  our 
bankers  in  New  York;  I  suppose  I  can  do  this 
through  one  of  the  banks  here,  can  I  not  ?" 

"O!  yes,"  said  Madame  de  Tremonille,  "or  I 
dare  say  you  might  procure  the  money  from  almost 
any  of  our  principal  merchants,  who  are  in  the  habit 
of  trading  with  New  York." 

"Well  then,  dear  Isabelle,  will  you  take  me  into 
town  to-morrow  morning,  and  there  we  can  arrange 
all  these  matters  together  ?" 

"  Certainly,  but  would  you  wish  to  have  a  wed- 
ding-cake, dear  Beatrice  ?  because,  if  so,  I  shall  take 
the  charge  of  that  upon  myself." 

"  Thank  you,  very  much,"  was  the  reply,  "  but 
my  feelings  lead  me,  to  wish  to  have  the  whole 


180  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

affair  as  quiet  as  possible — without  any  fuss  or  cere- 
mony whatever." 

So  it  was  arranged  for  the  present,  all  further 
particulars  being  left  for  decision,  till  "Walter  Grey 
should  arrive — this  was  now  "Wednesday,  and  by 
that  day  week,  he  might  be  with  them.  Blanche 
was  admitted  into  the  secret,  and  was  very  much 
pleased,  as  children  generally  are,  when  any  event 
of  importance  is  in  prospect.  Lucy  Moore  was  set 
hard  at  work,  next  day,  and  Beatrice  and  Madame 
de  Tremonille  sewed  and  chatted  together,  enjoying 
each  other's  society  as  much  as  possible,  before  they 
should  be  called  upon  to  part. 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  following  Tuesday. 
How  anxiously  had  Beatrice  looked  out,  toward 
where  the  blue  line  of  ocean  formed  the  boundary 
of  the  view  from  Palm  Hill,  to  see  if  perchance 
some  sail  might  not  be  visible  on  the  horizon. 

She  almost  blamed  herself  for  listlessness  and 
idleness,  and  yet,  felt  as  though  it  were  almost  im- 
possible to  help  getting  up  from  her  work,  every 
few  minutes,  to  have  a  look  out.  The  telescope  they 
had  was  so  good  a  one,  that  she  was  able  readily  to 
discern  if  the  vessel  were  one  from  her  native  land, 
and  she  felt  that  she  should  like,  herself,  to  be  the 
first  to  see  that  which  might  be  conveying  one  so 
dear  to  her. 

It  was  nearly  morn.     A  longer  time  than  usual, 


THE  STABS  AND  STRIPES.  181 

had  elapsed,  since  Beatrice  had  looked  out  to  sea; 
for  she  had  been  busily  engaged  with  Madame  de 
Tremonille,  in  her  room,  trying  on  some  article  of 
dress.  Now  when  she  again  looked,  there  was  in- 
deed a  ship  in  sight,  sailing  proudly  along  with  the 
"  stars  and  stripes,"  floating  from  her  mast-head, 
and  she  had  already  reached  nearly  midway,  be- 
tween the  line  of  distance,  and  the  harbor. 

Beatrice  rushed  along  the  passage  to  tell  the  good 
news  to  Madame  de  Tremonille. 

"I  wish  you  joy,  my  dear  girl,"  said  her  friend; 
"  I  trust  the  vessel  may  indeed  have  your  "Walter  on 
board :  at  anyrate,  I  will  order  the  carriage,  and  we 
will  drive  down  and  ascertain  if  he  is  really  come." 

"  O !  I  feel  he  is ;  I  know  he  's  come,"  said  Bea- 
trice, earnestly. 

"Well  then,  get  ready,  and  we  will  go  and  wel- 
come him,"  returned  Madame  de  Tremonille. 

"O!  no;  indeed  I  could  not,"  said  Beatrice, 
warmly.  "  It  may  seem  odd  to  you,  dear  Isabelle, 
but  I  could  not  first  see  him  again  among  a  crowd 
of  people  at  the  wharf.  I  could  not — indeed  I  could 
not — welcome  him  there." 

Madame  de  Tremonille  smiled — but  she  under- 
stood her  friend's  feelings,  and  did  not  press  her 
going.  She  knew  that  Beatrice's  heart  was  too  full 
for  her  to  trust  herself  to  welcome  her  chosen  hus- 
band amid  the  impertinent  and  curious  gaze  of  a 
12 


182  GREATNESS  m  LITTLE  THINGS. 

gaping  crowd,  and  a  calm  salutation  would  have 
been  far  too  cold  a  reception. 

"  Well,  then,  Blanche  can  come  with  me,"  said 
Madame  de  Trenionille ;  "she  has  seen  Mr.  Grey 
before,  so  she  can  introduce  me  to  him." 

It  was  not  long  before  the  carriage  rolled  away 
from  the  house,  leaving  Beatrice  in  a  state  of  great 
agitation  and  suspense.  She  walked  uneasily  up 
and  down  the  veranda  for  some  time.  Then  she 
filled  the  vases  in  the  drawing-room  with  fresh 
flowers  ;  and  then  she  got  an  entertaining  book  and 
sat  down  to  read,  striving  to  fix  her  attention  in 
order  to  make  the  time  pass  quickly:  but  though  she 
held  the  book  before  her  eyes,  its  pages  said  nothing 
but  "Walter,"  and  we  are  afraid,  she  would  not  have 
stood  any  very  strict  questioning  as  to  its  contents. 

Twice,  with  a  little  womanly  vanity,  she  went  to 
her  own  room  to  arrange  her  hair  and  dress,  and  to 
steal  a  glance  at  her  mirror,  wondering  how  Walter 
would  think  she  was  looking.  And  so  the  time 
passed  away,  till  the  sound  of  approaching  wheels 
became  audible.  She  stood  at  the  door  just  long 
enough  to  see  if  there  were  a  third  figure  in  the  dis- 
tant carriage,  and  having  seen  that  there  was  indeed 
a  gentleman  sitting  beside  Madame  de  Tremonille, 
she  rushed  into  the  drawing-room,  and  throwing 
herself  on  the  sofa,  she  hid  her  face  against  the 
pillow,  almost  wishing  (such  is  the  contrariety  of  the 


THE  INTERVIEW.  183 

human  heart)  that  Walter  was  not  so  near.  She 
could  not  go  to  the  door  to  welcome  him.  No ;  not 
for  the  world.  Another  moment,  and  voices  were 
heard  in  the  hall — his  voice,  and  calling  her  name. 
Madame  de  Tremonille  ran  down  the  passage,  and 
just  opening  the  door  and  seeing  Beatrice,  she  beck- 
oned to  "Walter,  and  as  soon  as  he  entered  she 
slipped  quickly  away — rightly  judging  that  a  tete-a- 
tete  would  be  preferred  by  both. 

On  the  blessed  joy  of  that  meeting  we  cannot  in- 
trude ;  it  can  only  be  understood  by  those  who  have 
been  similarly  circumstanced.  "We  can  only  say 
that  it  was  prolonged  to  so  late  an  hour-  that  Mad- 
ame de  Tremonille  at  last  ventured  to  send  Pomio 
to  summon  them  to  tea.  During  the  evening,  Mr. 
Campbell  came  in.  It  had  been  previously  arranged 
between  Madame  de  Tremonille  and  himself,  that 
"Walter  Grey  should  stay  at  the  Manse  during  the 
time  previous  to  the  wedding,  and  Mr.  Campbell 
now  came  to  welcome  and  claim  his  visitor.  Walter 
was  exceedingly  pleased  with  the  minister's  appear- 
ance, though  he  at  first  rebelled  a  little  at  being 
separated  from  Beatrice,  even  by  so  short  a  distance. 
Madame  de  Tremonille,  however,  playfully  but 
firmly  insisted  on  it,  telling  him  that  he  might  spend 
as  much  time  during  the  day  at  Palm  Hill  as  he 
chose,  but  that  at  night  he  must  take  refuge  at  the 
Manse. 


184:  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS, 

The  following  day  was  Tuesday,  and  that  day 
week  was  fixed  upon  for  the  wedding,  which  was,  of 
course,  to  be  solemnized  in  the  little  Scotch  church. 
During  the  few  days  intervening  no  event  of  note 
occurred.  We  can  only  say  that  Beatrice  seemed, 
somehow  or  other,  to  find  very  little  time  for  needle- 
work, (but  perhaps  this  was  "Walter's  fault,)  and 
Madame  de  Tremonille,  Jeannette  and  Lucy  Moore 
were  all  hard  at  work  for  her.  Mary  and  Caroline 
Gisborne  came  up  on  a  voyage  of  inquiry,  or  rather 
curiosity  to  see  "Walter,  their  ostensible  object  being 
to  visit  Beatrice.  Beatrice  told  them  that  if  they 
would  like  to  come  to  the  church  on  the  wedding- 
morning,  she  should  be  very  happy  to  see  them,  but 
that  she  was  going  to  have  no  bridesmaids  or  fuss 
of  any  kind  whatsoever,  as  it  was  so  soon  after  her 
father's  death. 

"  Well,  I  think  that  is  a  very  unsatisfactory  wed- 
ding," said  Caroline ;  "  I  shouldn't  think  I  was 
half  married  without  bridesmaids,  and  cake,  and  a 
breakfast,  and  all  that.  Why  couldn't  you  have 
waited  a  bit,  Beatrice,  and  then  done  the  thing 
properly  ?  I  am  sure  Mr.  Grey  seems  very  comfort- 
able at  the  Manse,  and  you  will  both  be  running 
away  from  us  when  you  are  married,  and  it  will  be 
such  a  pity  to  lose  you  so  soon." 

"  Well,  you  see,  Caroline,"  said  Beatrice,  smiling, 
"  Mr.  Grey  wants  to  be  back  in  America  before 


THE  BEST  FRIENDS  PART.  185 

long,  that  he  may  begin  to  practice  his  profession  ; 
and  I  have  a  little  sister  too,  in  New  York,  who  is, 
I  know,  very  anxious  to  see  me." 

"  Why,  you  are  never  going  to  spend  the  first 
three  weeks  of  your  honeymoon  on  board  ship !" 
said  Caroline ;  "  how  horrible  !  I  always  suffer  so 
from  sea-sickness.  I  cannot  imagine  anything  more 
unromantic !" 

"  Well,"  said  Beatrice,  "  but  I  do  not  suffer  so 
very  much  at  sea,  so  it  will  not  be  so  bad  for  me." 

"  Just  fancy,  then,  next  Tuesday  being  the  last 
time  we  shall  see  you  ;  I  think  you  have  been  very 
shabby  not  to  give  us  a  week  more,"  said  Mary. 

"Well,  so  it  is,"  said  Beatrice,  smiling;  "the 
best  friends  must  part,  you  know,  Mary.  But  I 
dare  say  I  shall  often  hear  of  you  from  Madame  de 
Tremonille." 

"  I  know  your  being  here  has  been  a  great  plea- 
sure to  us,"  returned  Mary  ;  "  we  are  so  miserably 
off  for  good  society,  particularly  that  of  girls  of  our 
own  age." 

"  I  wish  I  could  think,"  said  Beatrice,  gently, 
"that  our  intercourse  had  really  been  of  any  mutual 
benefit  to  each  other.  Perhaps  we  have  not  made 
it  so  profitable  as  we  might  have  done — I  feel  as  if 
it  were  so,  on  my  part/'' 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Caroline,  "  I  was 
thinking,  the  other  day,  that  I  have  thought  more 


186  GKEATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

of  t\v,j  or  three  little  things  that  you  have  said  on 
serious  subjects,  just  in  the  course  of  common  con- 
versation, than  I  often  have  after  hearing  a  sermon. 
I  do  not  know  how  it  is,  I  feel  as  if  I  liked  what  was 
good,  and  liked  to  talk  about  it,  and  yet,  somehow 
it  seems  to  slip  out  of  my  mind  so  very,  very  often. 
Sometimes  I  hear  a  thing  that  strikes  me  very  forci- 
bly, and  makes  me  think  seriously  for  some  time 
after,  but  the  impression  seems  soon  to  wear  off.  I 
cannot  tell  how  it  is." 

"  Dear  Caroline,"  said  Beatrice,  earnestly — "  it  is 
because  you  allow  your  mind  to  be  so  much  occu- 
pied with  trifles  that  the  things  of  eternity  have  but 
a  secondary  place.  Is  not  this,  dear  Caroline,  like 
what  our  Saviour  said  about  the  seed  falling  among 
the  thorns  ?  Do  strive  and  make  His  service  your 
first  and  chief  end  of  life,  and  live  as  near  to  Him  as 
possible,  and  then  you  will  find  that  you  have  far 
more  than  impressions ;  religion  would  then  be  a 
reality." 

"  I  will  try,  dear  Beatrice,"  said  Caroline,  grave- 
ly— "but  I  fear  I  am  very  unstable." 

"  It  is  from  want  of  prayer  and  want  of  real  earn- 
estness, I  think,"  replied  Beatrice ;  "  suppose  now, 
Caroline,  you  had  a  piece  of  needlework  to  do,  the 
finishing  of  which  quickly  was  of  the  greatest  import- 
ance, do  you  think  any  one  would  believe  you  were 
earnestly  trying  to  accomplish  your  task,  if  you  kept 


FRIENDSHIP   CEMENTED.  187 

laving  it  aside  for  every  trifling  thing  which  attract- 
ed your  attention  ?" 

"No!  indeed,"  said  Caroline,  musingly — "I  think 
I  quite  understand  what  you  mean.  I  have  been 
very  foolish." 

"  Caroline,"  said  Mary,  who  had  hitherto  sat 
silently  listening  to  the  conversation  ;  "  I  think  you 
and  I  might  be  greater  helps  to  each  other  than  we 
are.  I  believe  we  both  of  us  wish  to  do  right  and 
to  live  more  like  Christians,  but  I  think  our  stupid 
little  disputes  and  frequent  petty  quarrels  often  place 
stumbling-blocks  in  each  other's  way.  It  is  a  pity 
that  sisters,  thrown  together  so  much  as  they  must 
be,  should  not  be  more  gentle  and  kind,  more 
helpful  and  companionable  to  each  other  than  they 
often  are." 

"Well!  dear  Mary,  let  us  try,"  said  Caroline, 
kissing  her. 

Just  then  Walter  entered  the  room  and  the  girls 
shortly  after  took  their  leave,  saying  that  they 
hoped  to  see  Beatrice  once  more  before  her  marriage 
day. 

The  Monday  following  was  a  busy  day  for  Bea- 
trice ;  she  had  a  good  deal  of  packing  to  do,  and 
several  friends  to  say  good-by  to.  Walter  came  up 
irom  the  Manse  several  times,  but  complained  that 
he  could  hardly  get  a  sight  of  her.  It  was  six  o'clock 
;u  the  evening,  when  all  arrangements  being  com- 
16 


188          GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

pleted,  Beatrice  and  Madame  de  Tremonille,  accom- 
panied by  "Walter  and  Blanche,  went  to  say  farewell 
to  widow  Moore  at  her  little  cottage.  Beatrice  took 
her  a  nice  copy  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  in  large 
type,  for  a  parting  gift,  and  also  two  neat  lilac  print 
gowns  for  herself  and  Lucy.  The  presents  were 
received  with  many  expressions  of  gratitude  and 
delight,  and  the  good  widow  poured  forth  blessings 
on  the  head  of  Walter  and  Beatrice,  begging  them 
to  let  her  come  to  church  in  the  morning  to  see  them 
married. 

The  permission  was  readily  granted,  and  the  party 
returned  home,  sauntering  slowly  along  the  road, 
as  if  willing  to  enjoy  as  much  as  possible  their  last 
evening  amid  the  beautiful  scenery  around  Palm 
Hill.  Madame  de  Tremonille  looked  rather  sad, 
though  she  tried  to  keep  up  her  spirits.  She  felt 
much  at  the  idea  of  parting  with  Beatrice,  who  had 
become  as  dear  to  her  as  a  sister,  and  the  thought 
of  her  widowed  home  seemed  to  press  on  her  mind 
this  evening  more  than  usual.  When  they  reached 
the  house,  they  all  sat  down  in  the  veranda  for  one 
last  chat,  and  it  was  quite  dark  before  they  moved 
into  the  drawing-room  to  tea — and  Walter,  shortly 
after,  took  his  leave.  Madame  de  Tremonille  and 
Beatrice  prolonged  the  conversation  to  a  late  hour ; 
there  seemed  so  many  last  words  co  say ;  and 
Blanche,  too,  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  go  to 


REFLECTIONS  ON  MARRIAGE.  189 

bed  for  a  long  time, — she  was  so  busy  packing  a  little 
box  of  presents  for  Hetty,  which  she  had  been  col- 
lecting ever  since  she  came  home  from  America. 

At  last  the  house  was  still,  and  Beatrice's  was  the 
only  eye  that  remained  unclosed.  She  stood  leaning 
out  of  her  window  lost  in  thought.  How  many 
anxious  feelings  fill  a  young  girl's  mind  on  such  an 
occasion ;  thoughts  of  the  untried  sphere  that  lies 
before  them  ;  thoughts  vague  and  undefined  of  un- 
known trials  and  responsibilities  yet  to  come, 
mingled  with  trustful  feelings  of  love  and  hope. 
And  yet,  when  there  is  true  love  to  God  in  the  heart, 
and  a  sure  trust  in  the  chosen  one,  how  all  these 
tumultuous  feelings  and  anxieties  resolve  themselves 
into  calm  trust  and  confidence.  One  feels  that 
another  self  is  about  to  claim  our  best  energies,  and 
our  dearest  hearts'  affections,  and  it  is  no  slavery, 
indeed,  to  give  these,but  a  daily  work  of  love. 

"  Love  took  up  the  glass  of  Time,  and  turn'd  it  in  his  glowing  hands, 
Every  moment,  lightly  shaken,  ran  itself  in  golden  sands, 
Love  took  up  the  Harp  of  Life  and  swept  upon  its  chords  with 

might, 
Srnote  the  chord  of  Self,  that  trembling,  passed  in  music  out  of 

sight." — ALFBED  TENNYSOH. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

««  Sail  forth  into  the  sea  of  life, 
O  gentle,  loving,  trusting  wife  ; 
And  safe  from  all  adversity, 
Upon  the  bosom  of  that  sea, 
Thy  comings  and  thy  goings  be." — LONGFELLOW. 

"  Sweet  is  the  smile  of  home— the  mutual  look, — 

When  hearts  are  of  each  other  sure  ; 
Sweet  all  the  joys  that  crowd  the  household  nook— 
The  haunt  of  all  affections  pure."— KEBLE. 

THE  following  morning  rose  bright  and  beautiful — 
serene  in  tropical  loveliness.  Beatrice  was  scarcely 
awake  when  little  Blanche  came  tripping  lightly 
into  her  room,  and  jumped  up  on  the  bed,  throwing 
her  arms  around  her  neck,  and  kissing  her  warmly, 
again  and  again.  "  Look,  dear  Beatrice,"  she  ex- 
claimed, holding  up  some  exquisite  flowers,  "is  not 
this  a  lovely  nosegay?  do  just  smell  it!  I  got  up 
as  soon  as  it  was  light  to  gather  it  for  you,  and  I 
arranged  it  myself,  only  Jeannette  tied  the  string 
round,  and  made  the  holder.  It  is  for  you  when 
you  go  to  church:  do  carry  it  in  your  hand  to 

please  me." 
(190) 


THE  EVE  OF  MAKKIAGE.  191 

"Indeed  I  will,  darling  child,  with  great  plea- 
sure," said  Beatrice;  "  but  what  time  is  it,  Blanche?" 

"Why,  it  is  half  past  six,  said  Blanche,  "and 
Mamma  is  up." 

"And  we  are  to  be  at  the  church  by  eight?  O ! 
Blanche,  I  must  get  up  directly  and  dress,"  said 
Beatrice. 

"  I  will  run  and  tell  Mamma  you  are  awake — I 
know  she  wants  to  come  and  see  you." 

Beatrice  knelt  down  as  soon  as  she  had  risen,  lest 
she  might  not  get  another  quiet  time  for  prayer,  and 
while  she  was  still  on  her  knees,  Madame  de  Tre- 
monille  softly  entered  the  room.  "When  she  had 
finished,  they  embraced  each  other  without  speak- 
ing— both  their  hearts  were  full. 

"  My  beloved  Beatrice,"  whispered  Madame  de 
Tremonille,  "  God  bless  you !  I  feel  as  if  I  could 
hardly  let  you  go  from  me  so  soon  ;  and  yet  it  were 
selfish,  I  know,  to  wish  to  detain  you — your  "Walter 
has  the  best  claim  now.  Only  promise  me,  dear, 
that  you  will  not  forget  me.  Let  us  keep  up  a  real 
correspondence  with  each  other,  and  by  that  I  mean, 
let  us  tell  each  other  our  real  thoughts  and  feelings." 

"  It  will  be  a  very,  very  great  pleasure  to  me  to  do 
so,  dear  Isabelle,"  said  Beatrice ;  "  and  yon  know  we 
have  that  blessed  hope,  the  Christian's  hope  of  meet- 
ing again  in  that  land  where  'parting  shall  be  no 
more.'  Dear  little  Blanche  will  be  a  great  comfort 


192  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

to  you — I  feel  she  will.  Dear  child,  she  seems  to 
grow  more  sweet  and  loving  every  day." 

"  'God  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,' "  dear 
Beatrice,  said  her  friend,  sighing  as  she  spoke ;  "but 
oh !  I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  have  felt  this  morning. 
I  passed  through  the  spare-room,  a  little  while  ago, 
and  there  was  your  white  dress  lying  on  the  bed 
with  your  wedding-bonnet,  all  reminding  me,  oh ! 
so  forcibly,  of  how  it  was  with  me  some  few  happy 
years  ago.  Oh !  how  handsome  and  how  proud  of  me 
my  own  Eugene  was  then !  and  he  was  so  young,  so 
noble,  and  so  full  of  life  and  vigor,  and  I  fondly 
looked  forward  to  a  long  life  together ;  and  now — 
oh!  my  dear  lost  love!"  and  Madame  de  Tremon- 
ille  leant  her  head  upon  the  bed  and  burst  into 
tears. 

"  Dear  Isabelle,"  said  Beatrice,  gently,  after  a  few 
minutes'  pause,  "do  not  distress  yourself  thus. 
You  will  make  me  so  unhappy  if  you  do.  I  shall 
think  I  have  been  the  cause  of  it.  Indeed,  in- 
deed, my  heart  feels  for  you,  and  never  more  than 
now;  but  have  you  not  already  trusted  him  with 
your  Saviour  ?" 

"  Oh !  I  have,  I  have,"  said  Madame  de  Tremon- 
ille,  raising  her  head ;  "  it  was  only  a  moment's 
weakness.  But  come,  dear  Beatrice,  let  me  dress 
you  now ;  we  will  set  off  early  and  walk  slowly 
down  to  the  church  together.  I  hear  Blanche  calling 


THE  MARRIAGE.  193 

Jeannette  to  come  and  fasten  her  dress.  She  is 
going  to  wear  one  of  her  white  dresses,  with  a  light 
blue  sash,  and  a  little  straw  hat.  I  thought  this 
would  do  nicely  for  her." 

Even  to  the  eye  of  a  stranger  Beatrice  would  have 
looked  lovely,  as  she  stood  in  her  simple  bridal  robe 
of  white  muslin,  on  her  wedding  morn.  And  in  the 
eyes  of  those  who  loved  her,  we  need  not  say  how 
much  this  loveliness  was  enhanced. 

"Walter  and  Mr.  Campbell  were  waiting  in  the 
church  when  Beatrice  entered,  leaning  on  Madame 
de  Tremonille's  arm,  followed  by  little  Blanche, 
while  a  dusky  group  of  servants  appeared  in  the 
distance.  A  solemn  and  touching  address  was 
made  to  the  young  couple  by  the  minister,  and  the 
simple  service  was  soon  concluded.  When  all  was 
over,  Beatrice  looked  up  and  saw  Mary  and  Caroline 
Gisborne  standing  in  a  pew  near  the  pulpit,  and  as 
the  wedding-party  stood  conversing  for  a  few  mo- 
ments in  the  aisle,  before  leaving  the  church,  the 
two  girls  came  up  and  joined  them.  Beatrice  was 
leaning  on  Walter's  arm,  and  the  tears  stood  in  her 
eyes  as  they  kissed  her  and  offered  the  accustomed 
good  wishes. 

"  I  think  you  had  all  better  come  up  to  Palm 
Hill  and  breakfast  with  us,"  said  Madame  de  Tre- 
monille.  "Do  come,  Mr.  Campbell — our  friends 
will  not  leave  us  for  an  hour  or  two  yet." 


194  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"  How  soon  do  you  expect  to  sail,  Mrs.  Grey  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Campbell. 

Beatrice  started  and  colored ;  it  seemed  so  strange 
to  hear  herself  called  by  her  new  name.  Walter. 
relieved  her  from  answering,  saying  that  they  had 
engaged  a  passage  to  New  York  on  board  the  brig, 
"  Gipsy  Queen,"  and  that  they  expected  her  to  sail 
in  a  few  days. 

The  party  now  all  moved  slowly  up  the  hill  to  the 
house,  and  while  breakfast  was  getting  ready,  Beatrice 
went  to  change  her  dress  for  one  suitable  for  traveling. 
On  entering  her  room,  she  found,  lying  on  her  table, 
a  most  elegant  dressing-case,  with  a  slip  of  paper 
lying  on  it,  on  which  was  written — "For  my  dear 
friend,  Beatrice  Grey,  from  Isabelle  de  Tremonille." 

She  opened  it — it  was  completely  and  perfectly 
fitted  up  with  every  requisite  for  the  toilet ;  all  the 
tops  of  the  bottles,  etc.,  being  of  richly  worked  silver 
and  the  lining  of  dark-green  velvet.  Caroline  and 
Mary  had  followed  her  to  her  room,  and  they  were 
rapturous  in  their  expressions  of  admiration.  Bea- 
trice turned  toward  the  door ;  there  stood  Madame  de 
Tremonille  and  Blanche.  Throwing  her  arms  round 
her  friend's  neck,  Beatrice  thanked  her  in  warm,  but 
whispered  words.  Advancing  timidly,  Blanche  took 
Beatrice's  hand,  and  holding  out  a  small  parcel,  she 
said — "  Will  you  keep  this  for  my  sake,  dear  Bea- 
trice 2"  It  was  a  very  pretty  silver  fruit-knife. 


FARTING  PRESENTS.  195 

Beatrice  kissed  her,  afcd  told  her  she  admired  it 
very  much,  and  that  she  should  like  it  much  more 
on  account  of  the  giver.  Caroline  and  Mary  had 
each  brought  her  a  book  —  Caroline's  was  Krum- 
maeher's  "  Elijah  the  Tishbite,"  and  Mary's  was 
''Tennyson's  Poems." 

The  time  for  parting  seemed  to  come  too  quickly 
for  all  parties,  and  Beatrice  felt  as  though  she  were 
leaving  old  friends,  when  Madame  de  Tremonille's 
carriage  bore  herself  and  Walter  away  from  Palm 
Hill. 

The  remembrance  of  all  that  she  passed  through 
there,  shot  through  her  mind  as  they  drove  along 
the  road,  and  she  thought  of  her  dear  father's  quiet 
grave  in  the  little  Scotch  church-yard.  She  and 
Walter  had  paid  a  last  visit  to  the  spot,  the  evening 
before,  and  it  now  seemed  as  though  it  were  some- 
thing inexpressibly  precious  that  they  were  now 
leaving  behind,  and  bitter  tears  coursed  down  her 
cheeks  as  she  thought  of  it.  Walter  looked  at  her, 
and  seemed  to  read  her  thoughts,  for  he  only  pressed 
her  hand  in  respectful  silence,  and  said  nothing. 

They  drove  on  past  the  town,  up  a  very  pretty 
road  till  they  came  to  a  delightful,  countrified-look- 
ing little  white  cottage,  with  a  neat  garden  all  round 
it,  and  a  porch  trimmed  with  luxuriant  creepers.  At 
the  little  garden  gate  of  this  pretty  place,  Cato  drew 
up  his  horses,  seeming  quite  aware  where  he  was  to 


196  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

stop.  Beatrice  looked  at  Walter  in  surprise — • 
u  Why  !  Walter,  where  are  we  ?"  exclaimed  she. 

"It  is  all  right!"  said  Walter,  smiling,  as  ho 
helped  his  wife  to  alight,  and  led  her  up  the  little 
gravel  walk  to  the  door — "  I  meant  to  surprise  you, 
dear  Beatrice,  by  bringing  you  to  this  pleasant  little 
retreat,  instead  of  a  dirty,  noisy  hotel.  It  was 
through  Mr.  Campbell's  kindness  that  I  procured 
it ;  it  belongs  to  a  brother  clergyman  of  his,  who  is 
gone  on  some  business  to  the  other  side  of  the 
island,  and  he  has  kindly  placed  this  house  at  our 
disposal  till  the  ship  sails." 

On  entering  the  door,  they  were  kindly  welcomed 
by  the  minister's  old  housekeeper,  who  had  every- 
thing in  perfect  order  for  their  reception,  and  dur- 
ing the  few  days  they  were  at  the  cottage,  she  at- 
tended to  all  their  wants  with  scrupulous  care  and 
kindness,  serving  up  the  most  delightfully-cooked 
repasts  on  snowy-white  tablecloths,  in  a  pretty 
china-service  of  gold  and  white.  Vases  full  of  fresh 
flowers  were  placed  in  all  parts  of  the  house,  and 
yet,  while  their  comfort  was  studied,  they  were  left 
in  perfect  liberty. 

Thus  the  time  passed  away,  till  the  "  Gipsy 
Queen  "  was  ready  for  sailing.  They  had  proceeded 
on  their  voyage  about  a  week,  when  one  afternoon, 
as  Walter  and  Beatrice  were  sitting  together  on 
deck,  enjoying  the  fresh  breeze  and  gazing  on  the 


STRANGE  OBJECT.  197 

vast  blue  expanse  of  water,  which  lay  rolling  and 
heaving  around  the  vessel,  the  former  suddenly 
exclaimed  — 

"  O !  look,  Bee,  do  you  not  see  three  dark  forms, 
like  human  figures,  walking  on  the  water,  yonder 
in  the  far  distance?  I  wonder  what  they  can  be  !" 

Beatrice  turned  her  eyes  in  the  direction  pointed 
out  by  her  husband,  and  there,  indeed,  rose  against 
the  horizon,  three  dark,  straight  forms,  seemingly 
attached  to  no  foundation. 

"  Do  go  and  ask  the  captain  what  he  thinks  they 
are,  love!"  said  Beatrice,  "  he  can  look  through  his 
telescope." 

"Walter  walked  across  the  deck  to  where  the  cap- 
tain was  standing  talking  with  the  mate  of  the 
vessel.  He  had  the  telescope  in  his  hand,  and  they 
were  both  apparently  engaged  in  examining  that 
which  had  attracted  his  own  attention. 

"  I  'm  thinking  that  that  'ere  must  be  a  water- 
logged vessel,  sir,"  said  the  captain  to  Walter,  as  ho 
came  up ;  "  there  have  been  some  very  smart  gales 
in  these  parts  lately,  and  I  guess  she 's  some  mer- 
chant brig  as  has  sprung  a  leak  in  the  storm,  may-be. 
If  so,  God  help  the  crew,  for  we  're  a  precious  lon^ 
way  from  land  for  them  to  make  it  in  an  open  boat. 
At  anyrate,"  said  he,  turning  to  the  mate;  "let's 
alter  our  course  a  little,  Mr.  Jones,  and  make  toward 

her,  mayhap  we  shall  find  out  where  she 's  from." 
13 


198  GREATXKSS  ix  LITTLE  THINGS. 

Walter  went  back  to  communicate  the  news  to 
his  wife,  and  together  they  sat  and  watched  the  dis- 
tant object,  which  they  were  now  rapidly  approach- 
ing, as  the  captain  was  anxious  to  reach  it  before 
dark,  and  had  accordingly  ordered  all  sails  to  be 
set. 

When  they  had  approached  sufficiently  near,  they 
perceived  that  it  was,  indeed,  the  remains  of  some 
shipwrecked  and  completely  water-logged  vessel. 
Only  the  three  spars  were  visible  above  the  surface 
of  the  water,  but  from  the  tallest  of  these  floated 
something  like  a  handkerchief,  apparently  fastened 
there  by  the  crew,  either  before  they  had  met  their 
death  by  drowning,  or  before  they  had  taken  to 
the  boats  to  endeavor  to  make  for  some  distant 
shore. 

At  about  one  hundred  yards'  distance  from  the 
wreck,  the  captain  of  the  "  Gipsy  Queen,"  ordered 
that  her  sails  should  be  furled,  and  that  some  of  the 
hands  should  immediately  man  a  boat,  and  proceed 
toward  the  ill-fated  vessel,  to  endeavor,  if  possible 
to  discover  some  tidings  of  the  missing  crew. 

When  the  men  returned,  they  brought  with  them 
a  piece  of  stiff  paper,  evidently  the  cover  of  an  old 
book,  which  they  said,  they  found  nailed  to  the 
mast,  beneath  a  floating  handkerchief. 

In  this  was  written,  in  blotted  and  almost  illegible 
characters:  •••  • 


THE  WKECK.  199 

"  This  is  the  wreck  of  the  "  Mary  Jane,"  brig, 
from  Baltimore — sprung  a  leak  in  the  gale.  Crew 
taken  to  boat,  .and  steered  in  a  north-westerly  direc- 
tion. Will  any  captain  of  a  vessel,  finding  this, 
keep  a  look-out  for  them  !" 

The  paper  bore  date  five  days  before. 

"Why,  what  has  Jim  Greenwood  got  there?" 
asked  the  captain,  as  the  last  of  the  sailors  stepped 
on  board,  having  something  lying  on  his  arm. 

"Why  it's  a  cat,  sir,"  said  the  man—"  there  she 
was,  just  inside  the  round-house,  on  a  shelf,  and 
when  she  heard  the  splash  of  the  boat's  oars,  she 
began  mewing  and  scratching  away — so  I  thought  I 
wouldn't  leave  the  poor  creetur  to  perish — and  her 
being  the  last  to  abide  by  the  ship  too — when  all 
the  rest  had  forsaken  it." 

"I  expect,  Jim,"  said  the  captain,  laughing,  "  that 
the  cat's  stay,  was  more  one  of  compulsion  than 
choice — " 

"  Well,  sir,  I  can't  tell,  but  I  '11  keep  her,  with 
your  leave — somehow,  I  fancy  she  wouldn't  desert 
the  ship—" 

"  Well,  perhaps,"  said  the  captain,  "as  the  vessel 
is  water-logged,  and  in  no  danger  of  sinking  below 
her  spars,  the  crew  would  have  done  better,  to  abide 
by  her  too — at  anyrate,  Jim,  keep  the  cat — there 
are  plenty  of  rats  and  mice  in  the  hold,  so  she  '11  be 
useful,  I  reckon." 


200  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

Great  was  now  the  excitement  felt  by  all  on 
board,  as  to  whether  there  was  any  chance  of 
overtaking  the  sufferers.  It,  was  evident,  that  for 
two  days,  at  least,  the  ship  might  continue  her 
course,  at  the  usual  rate  of  sailing,  without  expect- 
ing to  meet  them.  After  that  time,  the  good-natured 
captain  determined  on  lying-to,  every  night,  and 
hanging  out  red -lights  from  the  "  Gipsy  Queen," 
lest  he  should  pass  by  them,  in  the  dark ;  at  the 
same  time,  occasionally  altering  his  course  during 
the  day,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  them. 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day,  after  the 
wreck  had  been  discovered,  that  a  dark  object  ap- 
peared, like  a  speck  in  the  distance  ;  which  proved, 
on  a  nearer  approach,  to  be  indeed  a  boat,  with 
several  persons  on  board. 

How  often,  during  the  past  three  days,  had  Bea- 
trice come  up  on  deck,  and  looked  anxiously  out 
for  the  poor  ship- wrecked  sailors !  and  now  that 
there  was  really  a  bpat  in  sight,  she  and  "Walter 
participated  fully,  in  the  excitement  of  their  crew, 
as  to  the  condition  of  its  inmates. 

It  was  dusk,  before  the  boat  and  the  ship  met, 
for  though  the  people  in  the  former,  had  perceived 
the  "  Gipsy  Queen,"  and  rowed  toward  her,  she 
evidently  contained  but  few  efficient  hands,  and  her 
progress  was  very  slow. 


THE  SHIPWBECKED  PARTY.  201 

As  they  came  alongside,  Beatrice  and  her  hus- 
band leant  over, the  ship's  side,  and  watched  with 
mingled  emotions  of  pleasure  and  pain,  the  emaci- 
ated, and  yet  thankful  countenances  of  the  sufferers, 
as  they  were  assisted  on  board. 

The  party  consisted  of  seven  men,  a  woman,  and 
an  infant  of  some  six  or  eight  months  old.  The 
woman  lay  in  a  recumbent  posture,  with  her  head 
against  the  gunwale  of  the  boat,  apparently  insen- 
sible to  all  that  was  going  on  around  her.  One 
of  the  sailors  held  the  infant  in  his  rough  arms, 
and  endeavored  to  hush  its  plaintive  wailings. 

When  the  party  were  all  on  board,  and  the  poor 
woman  had  been  carried  down,  and  laid  in  a  berth, 
the  men  explained,  that  she  was  the  wife  of  the 
captain  of  the  "Mary  Jane;"  that  her  husband, 
had  been  unfortunately  drowned  on  the  day  of  the 
wreck ;  and  that  the  poor  creature  from  grief,  from 
want  of  proper  food,  and  from  exposure  to  the  heat 
of  the  sun  in  an  open  boat,  had  become  alarmingly 
ill,  with  alternate  fits  of  delirium  and  exhaustion, 
from  which  even  the  presence  of  her  babe  could 
not  arouse  her.  Beatrice  took  the  infant  from  the 
sailor  and  endeavored  to  hush  it  to  rest;  and  in- 
deed, the  poor  child  and  its  sick  mother,  now 
claimed  her  whole  care  and  attention. 

The  baby  was  a  delicate,  weak)y-looking  boy, 
who  lay  in  her  arms  moaning,  and  every  now  and 


202  GKEATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

then  opening  its  little  feverish  lips  and  looking  up 
into  her  face,  as  if  imploring  pity. 

Beatrice  felt  so  glad  that  Walter  was  able  to 
afford  medical  assistance  to  the  poor  mother,  whom 
he  did  not  consider  in  any  immediate  danger, 
although  fever  and  suffering  had  rendered  her,  as 
yet,  totally  oblivious  to  all  that  was  going  on  around 
her. 

Three,  four,  five  weary  days  did  Beatrice  spend 
in  the  sick  woman's  cabin,  ministering  to  the  wants 
of  the  poor  creature,  thus  so  friendless  and  alone. 
There  was  no  other  female  on  board,  and  she  could 
not  leave  her  uncared  for. 

The  poor  infant,  too,  was  a  great  trial  and  charge, 
for  it  seemed  to  pine  away  hourly ;  and  long  before 
the  mother  had  recovered  her  reason,  Walter  had 
despaired  of  its  life.  Occasionally  Beatrice  would 
go  up  on  deck  with  her  little  charge,  to  see  if  per- 
chance the  fresh  sea-breeze  might  not  fan  the  lamp 
of  life  that  was  now  flickering  so  faintly — but  all 
seemed  of  no  aavil.  The  little  eyes  waxed  dimmer 
and  dimmer ;  the  pulastions  of  the  tiny  heart  fainter 
and  fainter.  Beatrice,  indeed,  felt  it  a  trial — if  the 
poor  mother  could  only  have  returned  to  conscious- 
ness once  more  ere  her  babe's  death !  But  it  was 
not  to  be  so ;  and  Beatrice  could  only  look  to  her 
heavenly  Father  for  help,  and  trust  Him  with  the 
result.  The  sight  of  the  poor  woman's  sullerings 


MKS.  HARVEY.  203 

drew  forth  her  warmest  sympathy,  and  the  feeling 
of  how  much  she  loved  her  Walter,  deepened  her 
pity  for  poor  Mrs.  Harvey  under  her  deep  loss.  It 
grieved  her  heart  to  see  the  poor  babe  suffering  so 
much,  and  yet  to  know  that  all  human  aid  was  of 
no  avail ;  and  yet,  after  five  days  and  nights  passed 
with  the  infant  almost  continually  in  her  arms,  she 
felt  a  sorrow  as  though  she  had  lost  something  that 
had  entwined  itself  about  her  heart's  affections, 
when  the  freed  spirit  left  its  frail  little  tenement  and 
returned  to  the  God  who  gave  it.  And  when  the 
tiny  body  was  committed  to  the  deep  that  evening, 
there  was  scarcely  a  dry  eye  on  board,  even  among 
the  rough  sailors. 

It  was  sad  work  too,  to  break  to  the  poor  mother 
the  intelligence  of  her  second  deep  loss,  on  her  resto- 
ration to  consciousness ;  and  for  some  time  indeed, 
again  her  reason  seemed  to  totter  on  its  throne.  But 
Beatrice's  tender,  sympathetic  manner  and  unwearied 
kindness  and  attention,  did  much  to  restore  the  poor 
woman  to  tranquillity. 

Thus  the  time  passed  on  till  they  reached  New 
York.  How  many  and  varied  were  Beatrice's  feel- 
ings on  again  beholding  her  native  city.  Joy  filled 
her  heart  at  the  thought  of  seeing  her  sister  and 
other  dear  friends  ;  but  her  father,  and  the  home  of 
her  childhood,  where  were  they  ? 


204  GREATNESS  IN^  LITTLE  THINGS. 

The  first  care  of  Walter  and  Beatrice  on  the  ves- 
sel, was  to  provide  for  the  safety  and  comfort  of  poor 
Mrs.  Harvey.  She  said  she  had  a  widowed  sister  to 
whose  house  she  could  go,  but  that  she  lived  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  city.  It  did  not  require  many 
moments  for  the  Greys  to  decide  that  they  would 
first  see  the  poor  widow  safe  home  before  they  should 
seek  their  own  friends — for  was  she  not  friendless 
and  alone,  and  cast,  as  it  were,  on  their  protecting 
kindness  3 

They  found  the  sister  a  gentle,  affectionate,  warm- 
hearted woman,  who  received  Mrs.  Harvey  with 
tears  of  mingled  joy  and  sympathy — but  she  had 
five  young  children  depending  upon  her  for  support, 
and  although  poor  Mrs.  Harvey  might  probably,  in 
time,  be  able  to  earn  something  toward  their  mutual 
support,  yet  it  was  easy  to  perceive  that,  with  such 
slender  means,  any  additional  burden  would  be  felt. 

Beatrice  felt  that  she  had  the  means  of  assistance, 
and  could  she  withhold  her  hand  in  a  case  where 
the  grief  and  poverty  of  others  seemed  so  plainly  to 
call  for  help  and  protection  ? 

With  her  husband's  consent  she  therefore  earn- 
estly begged  poor  Mrs.  Harvey  to  accept  of  a 
small  annuity  from  her,  urging  it  for  the  sake 
of  the  little  one  whom  she  had  nursed  in  his  last 
hours. 


THE  WKLCOITE.  205 

The  poor  widow  thanked  her  with  tears  of  joy 
and  gratitude,  while  Beatrice  felt  grateful  to  her 
heavenly  Father  for  thus  having  afforded  her  the 
means  of  comforting  the  heart  of  the  mourner. 

It  was  with  a  beating  heart  that  Beatrice  took 
hold  of  her  husband's  arm,  as  he  helped  her  to  alight 
at  the  door  of  his  father's  house.  They  had  not 
time  to  ring  the  bell  before  they  heard  an  exclama- 
tion of  joy  from  an  open  window  above,  and  Hetty 
rushed  down  stairs  and  was  in  Beatrice's  arms  in  an 
instant.  Old  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grey  followed  her,  and 
welcomed  their  son  and  daughter-in-law  with  tears 
of  joy  and  warm  words  of  welcome.  Aunt  Louisa 
too  came  out  into  the  hall,  and  seemed  really  glad 
to  see  them.  O !  how  pleasant  is  the  feeling  of 
being  welcomed,  with  gushing  affection,  by  those 
we  love.  O !  the  blessing  of  a  hearty,  thorough, 
sincere  welcome. 

Hetty  seemed,  perhaps,  the  most  overjoyed  of  any 
of  the  party.  She  kept  fast  hold  of  her  sister's 
hand,  while  the  tears  stood  full  in  her  dark  eyes, 
and  her  cheeks  burned  a  rosy  red,  and  she  kept 
every  now  and  then  looking  up  in  Beatrice's  face, 
as  though  to  assure  herself  of  the  reality  of  her 
presence. 

Their  joy  was  in  some  measure  chastened  by  sor- 
row, in  thinking  of  him  who  had  gone  from  them 
and  had  returned  no  more  to  partake  in  this  glad 


206  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

welcoming  ;  and  the  mourning  dresses  of  all  served 
as  a  reminder  of  their  grief,  fur  both  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Grey  had  wished  to  show  this  testimony  of  respect 
to  the  memory  of  so  much  esteemed  and  valued  a 
friend. 

O !  how  much  there  was  to  tell  on  both  sides — 
how  much  news  to  communicate  ! 

Beatrice  was  thought  to  be  looking  remarkably 
well,  and  very  little  altered  by  her  residence  in  the 
West  Indies. 

"  We  expected  to  see  you  come  back  a  sort  of 
mulatto  color,  dear  Beatrice,"  said  Hetty  laughing  ; 
"  and  you  look  as  rosy,  at  this  moment,  as  if  you 
had  never  left  home." 

Beatrice  smiled  ;  "O!  Hetty,"  she  said,  "you  do 
not  know  how  many  beautiful  places  I  have  seen. 
I  have  often  wished  you  could  have  been  with  me 
to  enjoy  them.  But  I  must  show  you  all  my  West 
India  curiosities  and  sketches  some  time  when  I 
have  time  to  unpack  them  ;  and  there  is  a  little 
box  too,  for  you,  from  Blanche." 

"  O  !  how  is  dear  Blanche  ?"  said  Hetty ;  "  I  was 
so  glad  to  see  you  I  had  not  had  time  to  ask  after 
her." 

UO!  she  is  such  a  sweet  child,"  said  Beatrice; 
"  she  was  always  a  dear  little  thing,  but  she  is  very 
much  improved  lately,  and  is  so  gentle  in  her  man- 
ners, and  yet  so  lively  and  warm-hearted,  that  I 


THE  RECITAL.  207 

was  quite  grieved  to  part  with  her,  and  to  her 
adopted  mother  she  is  a  treasure  indeed." 

"•Madame  de  Tremonille  is  one  of  the  most  de- 
lightful, cultivated,  and  charming  women  I  have 
ever  met,"  said  Walter.  "  She  won  my  heart  by  her 
kindness  and  love  to  dear  Bee  ;  she  seemed  as  if  she 
could  never  do  enough  for  her." 

"  "Well,  I  do  not  know  that  that  was  so  very  ex- 
traordinary after  all,"  said  old  Mr.  Grey,  smiling, 
and  tapping  his  daughter-in-law  on  the  shoulder ; 
"  she  seems,  somehow  or  other,  to  have  twined  her- 
self round  all  our  hearts ;  and  as  for  this  little  gipsy," 
said  he,  catching  Hetty  by  the  arm  and  pulling  her 
toward  him,  "  I  have  adopted  her  as  my  second 
daughter !" 

"  Well,  dear  Beatrice,"  said  his  wife,  "  I  should 
advise  you  to  come  up  stairs  now,  and  take  off  your 
bonnet  and  shawl.  You  will  be  glad  to  rest  a  little 
while  before  tea — shall  you  not,  my  dear  ?" 

Beatrice  readily  consented,  and  followed  Mrs. 
Grey  up-stairs,  holding  Hetty  by  the  hand. 

There  was  abundant  food  for  conversation  that 
evening,  and  time  flew  rapidly  away  till  nine  o'clock 
struck,  and  old  Socrates  came  with  a  lantern  from 
Curzon  street  to  take  Mrs.  Grant  and  Hetty  home. 

"  O  !  come  in,  Socrates,"  said  Beatrice,  when  she 
saw  his  black  face,  with  its  venerable-looking  white 
hair,  peeping  in  at  the  door. 


208  GEEATNESS  ra  LITTLE  THINGS. 

u  Me  berry,  berry  glad  to  see  you,  Missy  Betiss,' 
said  the  old  man,  advancing  into  the  room,  with  his 
hat  in  his  hand,  "  you  look  more  sweeter  and  purtier 
dan  when  you  left  home.  I  glad  to  see  Massa 
Walter,  your  husband — he  good  Christian  man; 
God  bless  you  boff,  is  my  prayer." 

"Thank  you,  Socrates,  I  am  sure,"  said  Beatrice; 
"  but  how  have  you  been  since  I  left  home  ?" 

"  "Well,  purty  well,  Missy,  for  old  man  like  me ; 
but  since  I  hear  my  old  massa  gone,  I  feel  some- 
times it  time  for  Socrates  to  go  too.  I  shall  go  and 
seek  my  massa  soon,  Missy.  I  am  much  older  nor 
he  was  when  de  Lord  took  him,  but  while  I  live  on 
dis  earth  I  must  lib  wid  you,  Missy  Betiss,  and 
serve  you." 

"  Well,  Socrates,  we  must  manage  that  if  we  can," 
said  Beatrice ;  "bat  you  might  be  thinking  of  leav- 
ing off  work  now." 

O !  no,  Missy ;  I  never  like  to  be  idle  while  de 
Lord  gives  me  strength  to  work.  Please,  Missis, 
are  you  ready  2"  said  he,  turning  to  Mrs.  Grant. 

Hetty  cast  a  sorrowful  look  at  Beatrice,  at  the. 
thought  of  parting  with  her;  but  Beatrice  whispered 
in  her  ear  that  she  was  to  live  at  Mill  Town  with 
Walter  and  herself,  and  that  then  she  hoped  they 
should  see  plenty  of  each  other.  A  gleam  of  joy 
shot  across  Hetty's  face,  at  this  glad  intelligence, 
and  her  cheeks  colored  with  pleasure.  Yague  fears 


THE  WILL.  209 

of  being  left  at  school  in  New  York,  or  of  continu- 
ing to  live  in  Curzon  street  with  Aunt  Louisa,  had 
often  troubled  her  mind,  and  Beatrice's  words  made 
the  poor  child  go  home  and  lie  down  on  her  pillow, 
that  night,  with  a  happy  and  light  heart. 

After  Mrs.  Grant  and  Hetty  had  left,  the  rest  of 
the  party  continued  for  some  time  engaged  in  con- 
versation. There  seemed  so  much  to  say,  that  they 
were  unwilling  to  separate. 

"  Beatrice,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Grey,  "  before  you 
left  this  country,  your  dear  father  placed  in  my 
hands  a  copy  of  his  will,  which  he  had  had  drawn 
up  a  short  time  before.  I  have  not  opened  it  yet, 
waiting  for  your  return  to  do  so  ;  if  you  think 
proper,  I  will  read  it  to-morrow  morning,  when  you 
are  all  assembled  together." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Beatrice,  "  whatever  you  think 
best.  Dear  Papa  mentioned  something  to  me,  re- 
specting the  manner  in  which  he  had  disposed  of 
what  he  possessed.  Though  this  is  not  much,  yet, 
what  we  have  will  be  a  help  to  dear  Walter,  now 
he  is  not  yet  settled." 

"  How  soon  do  you  think  of  going  down  to 
Mill  Town,  my  dear  son?"  said  old  Mrs.  Grey. 

"Well,  mother,  as  soon  as  possible,"  said 
Walter;  "you  see,  there  is  a  good  opening  for  me 
now,  and  our  friends  there  seem  to  wish  me  to 
come  at  once,  before  a  rival  appears  in  the  field. 


flO  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

There  is  only  one  old  doctor  in  the  place,  and  he  is 
quite  of  the  old  school,  and  almost  superannuated. 
I  shall  be  ready  to  go  down  as  soon  as  ever  Bea- 
trice is — " 

"  O !  I  have  nothing  to  keep  me  beyond  a  few 
flays,"  said  his  wife,  "  I  should  like  to  see  a  few  old 
friends  and  acquaintances,  before  we  go  ;  and  as 
Hetty  is  to  come  with  us,  she  will  want  a  little  time 
to  get  ready." 

"O !  no — come,"  said  old  Mr.  Grey,  "I  intend 
Hetty  to  live  with  us;  she  has  been  here  every  day 
lately,  and  I  should  so  miss  her  bright,  merry  face; 
you  really  must  leave  her  behind  you,  Beatrice — " 

"  I  made  a  solemn  promise  to  dear  Papa,  on  his 
death-bed,"  said  Beatrice,  "that  I  would  take  her  to 
live  with  us,  and  be  a  mother  to  her,  as  far  as  lay 
in  my  power.  So  please,  let  her  come  with  us  now, 
that  she  may  get  to  consider  our  house  as  her  home, 
and  then,  you  know,  dear  Mr.  Grey,  she  can  come 
and  visit  you  as  often  as  you  like — the  distance 
from  here  to  Mill  Town,  is  not  so  very  great — " 

"  Well,  I  see,  I  must  yield  the  point,"  said  the  old 
gentleman,  sighing — "but  what  is  your  aunt  to  do?" 

"  Dear  Papa  told  me,  he  had  left  her  enough  to 
support  her  comfortably,"  replied  Beatrice. 

"I  should  think,  aunt  would  probably  go  into 
one  of  the  boarding-houses  of  the  city.  I  think 
such  a  life  would  suit  her." 


COMMENTS  ox  CHARACTER.  211 

"  By-the-by,  Beatrice,"  said  Mr.  Grey,  "your  old 
admirer,  Mr.  Chichester,  is  married;  he  did  not 
seem  to  take  your  rejection  of  him  so  very  much 
to  heart." 

"  I  don't  think  Chichester  is  the  kind  of  man  ever 
to  take  anything  very  much  to  heart,"  said  "Walter ; 
"his  predilections  were  of  a  very  evanescent  nature: 
he  was  always  fancying  himself  in  love  with  some 
one  or  other,  and  if  matters  did  not  run  smoothly, 
why  then,  with  the  utmost  nonchalance,  he  could 
attach  himself  to  some  one  else.  I  don't  call  that 
sort  of  thing  true  love:  it  is  not  worthy  of  the 
name — " 

"  "Whom  has  he  maried  ?"  said  Beatrice. 

"  "Why,  who  of  all  others,  but  Alice  Vaughan," 
replied  Mrs.  Grey.  "He  has  about  got  his 
match.  She  was  just  the  kind  of  girl  to  marry  for 
an  establishment,  for  the  sake  indeed,  of  being 
married;  and  so  perhaps  she  would  feel  less,  than 
many  others,  the  loss  of  any  particular  devotion 
toward  her,  on  her  husband's  part.  So  long  as  he  is 
outwardly  attentive  to  her,  and  gives  her  what 
dresses  and  ornaments  she  wants,  1  don't  suppose, 
she  will  care  for  much  beside.  Perhaps  she  might 
not  have  appreciated  true  love — so  it  will  be  the 
better  for  her,  poor  girl  1" 

"It  often  astonishes  me,"  said  "Walter,  smiling, 

"  how  people  find  each  other  out,  as  partners  for  life  : 
18 


212  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

some  seem  so  exactly  suited  to  each  other,  that 
they  appear  to  have  been  cut  out  and  moulded  for 
no  one  else." 

"Well,  that  is  true,"  said  his  mother;  "but  yet 
we  often  see  very  happy  marriages,  where  the 
husband  and  wife  differ  entirely  and  essentially,  both 
in  character  and  disposition  ;  I  was  going  to  say,  in 
tastes  also,  but  of  course,  there  must  be  some  har- 
mony there,  for  them  to  be  companions  for  each  other 
at  all.  But  I  have  often  noticed  a  strongly-marked 
characteristic  on  one  side,  counterbalanced  by  a  defi- 
ciency in  that  point  on  the  other — that  where  there 
is  the  greatest  weakness  in  the  one  disposition,  the 
greatest  strength  will  often  lie  in  the  other — and 
that  thus  the  two  characters  seem  to  dove-tail  into, 
and  balance  eacn  other,  and  so  produce  harmony 
and  happiness." 

"  If  you  have  all  finished  this  discussion  on 
matrimony,"  said  old  Mr.  Grey,  "I  think  we  had 
better  be  thinking  of  going  to  bed,  for  our  travelers 
must  be  tired." 

Just  as  the  party  had  all  assembled  for  breakfast, 
the  following  morning,  Hetty  came  running  into 
the  room,  her  face  beaming  with  joy — and  running 
up  to  Beatrice  quite  "sans  ceremonie,"  she  kissed 
her  heartily,  and  then  turning  to  Mrs.  Grey,  she 
said: 


HETTY.  213 

"Forgive  me,  dear  Mrs.  Grey,  for  coming  so  early ; 
I  have  been  awake  ever  since  it  was  light,  longing 
for  the  time  to  come  when  I  might  run  over." 

"Pray  don't  apologize,  dear  child,  we  are  always 
glad  to  see  you." 

"  Aunt  Louisa  sends  her  love,  and  says  she  will 
be  here  after  breakfast,"  said  Hetty  ;  "  but  she  was 
only  just  up,  when  I  started,  so  she  will  not  be  here 
just  yet." 

"  Come  to  breakfast,  dear  children,"  said  Mrs. 
Grey,  who  was  pouring  out  the  coffee ;  "  it  will  all 
get  cold  while  you  are  standing  there — and  you  can 
talk  and  discuss  your  eggs  and  toast  at  the  same 
time." 

""Well,  at  least  we  can  look  at  each  other,"  said 
Hetty,  laughing,  and  skipping  up  to  the  breakfast 
table.  "Now  doesn't  it  look  delightful,  dear  Mrs. 
Grey,  to  see  those  two  dear  faces  here  again? — it 
seems  almost  like  a  dream  to  me — I  have  longed 
to  see  Beatrice  for  such  a  dreadful  time." 

"  Why  you  have  not  been  so  very,  very  dull  and 
melancholy,  I  hope,  dear  Hetty,"  said  her  sister. 

"  Why,  perhaps  not  exactly  so  bad  as  that,"  she 
replied ;  "  but  Aunt  Louisa  kept  me  always  in  such 
prim  propriety,  I  felt  as  if  I  could  hardly  breathe 
freely  when  I  was  with  her — she  used  always  to  be 
telling  me  to  sit  straight,  or  to  turn  out  my  toes,  or 

some  fidgety  thing  or  other.     If  she  asked  me  to 
14 


214  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

read  aloud,  it  was  always  either  too  fast  or  too  slow, 
or  too  loud  or  too  low.  I  seemed  always  to  be  in  a 
bother  as  to  whether  I  was  doing  right  or  not,  and 
that  made  me  ten  times  worse.  She  is  so  old- 
maidish  and  fudgy,  one  can 't  fancy  she  was  ever 
married." 

"Come,  come,  Hetty,"  said  Beatrice,  gravely, 
"  you  must  not  speak  so  harshly  of  Aunt  Louisa ; 
it  is  not  right.  She  meant  kindness  toward  you, 
when  correcting  you,  only  perhaps  her  manner  of 
doing  it  was  not  pleasant." 

"  Kindness  !"  said  Hetty,  warmly ;  "  well  I  thought 
it  down-right  teasing.  I  certainly  never  took  it  for 
kindness — I  never  was  so  plagued  in  my  life." 

"Perhaps  you  were  not  attentive  enough,  in  trying 
to  remember  the  little  faults  she  told  you  of,  Hetty, 
and  that  made  matters  worse." 

"Well,  perhaps  not,"  said  Hetty,  slowly  and 
thoughtfully ;  "  and  yet,  Bee,  when  I  did  try,  it  did 
not  seem  to  be  much  better." 

"  I  think  great  allowances  should  be  made  for 
your  aunt,"  said  old  Mr.  Grey  ;  "  she  has  had  many 
trials  and  disappointments  in  life,  and  you  should 
bear  with  her  as  gently  as  you  can.  I  believe  she 
is  really  and  truly  fond  of  you  both  at  heart." 

"Well,  perhaps  she  may  be  after  all,"  said  Hett}7. 
41 1  know  that  when  I  had  that  attack  of  influenza, 
Mrs.  Grey,  I  thought  Aunt  Louisa  seemed  very  care 


CHARITY.  215 

ful  of  me  ;  she  used  to  come  and  see  me  many  times 
in  the  day,  and  bring  me  nice  little  things  she  had 
made  for  me  with  her  own  band.  Though  she  never 
said  much,  I  thought  she  seemed  to  feel  for  me." 

"  Well,  dearest,"  said  Beatrice,  "  always  try  and 
judge  as  charitably  of  every  one  as  you  can.  You 
cannot  expect  to  find  everybody  equally  pleasant  and 
agreeable  in  their  manners ;  but  allowances  should 
be  made  for  all,  and  we  should  never  try  to  find  out 
what  a  person's  faults  are,  but  think  all  the  good  of 
them  we  possibly  can." 

"  Walter,  I  have  been  thinking,  this  morning," 
said  his  father,  "  that  it  would  be  a  good  plan  for 
you  to  take  the  steamboat  and  go  down  to  Hartford, 
and  then  go  on  to  Mill  Town  and  look  out  for  a  house, 
and  get  it  in  some  tolerable  order  before  your  wife 
and  Hetty  go.  You  see,  your  mother's  relations 
in  the  place  are  strangers  to  Beatrice — almost,  I 
may  say,  to  ourselves — and  it  would  be  much  more 
pleasant  for  her  to  have  a  home  to  go  to  at  once." 

" It  would,  indeed,  father,"  said  Walter.  "What 
do  you  say  to  that  plan,  dear  Bee  ?  I  do  not  know 
that  I  should  like  to  choose  a  house  without  consult- 
ing you." 

"  Well,  I  will  trust  to  your  taste,  Walter,"  said 
nis  wife,  smiling;  "but  indeed  I  fancy  you  will 
have  little  choice.  From  your  description  of  it,  Mill 
Town  appears  to  be  a  very  small  place,  and  I 


216  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

suppose,  we  shall  have  to  put  up  with  what  we 
can  get." 

"I  think  you  had  better  choose  what  furniture 
you  want  here,  Walter,  before  you  go,"  said  his 
mother,  "and  then  take  it  down  with  you  on  the 
boat;  you  can  get  it  so  much  better  and  cheaper 
here,  and  then  Beatrice  and  you  can  please  your 
own  taste." 

"  Yes,  mother,  that  will  be  a  capital  plan,"  said 
"Walter.  "  When  could  you  go  out  with  me,  Bee  ? 
I  should  be  glad  to  start  for  Mill  Town  in  a  day  or 
two." 

"Well,  then,  suppose  we  go  this  morning,"  said 
Beatrice ;  "  we  are  more  likely  to  have  callers  in 
the  afternoon,  and  I  suppose,  I  ought  to  be  at  home 
to  receive  them  for  the  next  day  or  two." 

"Do  let  me  go  out  shopping  with  you,  dear 
Beatrice,"  said  Hetty,  "I  have  very  good  taste, 
you  know,"  she  continued,  laughing;  "I  should 
choose  such  charmingly  pretty  things,  if  it  were  left 
tome!" 

"  Left  to  you,  indeed,  Hetty,"  said  her  brother-in- 
law,  laughing  too ;  "I  am  afraid  there  would  be 
some  queer  things  sent  down  to  Mill  Town  if  we 
trusted  to  your  selection.  But  come,  at  any  rate,  and 
give  us  your  opinion." 

"  Indeed,  Master  Walter,  you  are  very  polite," 
said  Hetty,  tossing  back  her  dark  curls;  "perhaps 


IRISH  CONSTANCY.  217 

if  my  opinion  is  so  little  valued,  I  shall  not  deign 
to  give  it." 

"Come,  come,"  said  Beatrice,  "don't  be  quarrel- 
ing, you  naughty  creatures ;  come  with  me^  up- 
stairs, Hetty,  I  want  to  give  you  Blanche's  little  box 
now ;  poor  dear  child,  the  making  up  of  that  parcel 
was  the  result  of  a  great  deal  of  toil  and  labor  on 
her  part.  She  began  to  collect  things  for  you  almost 
as  soon  as  we  arrived  at  Palm  Hill." 

"O!  yes,"  said  Hetty,  "but  wait  two  or  three 
minutes,  dear  Bee,  till  I  have  finished  breakfast.  l  I 
have  been  talking  so  much  I  have  forgotten  to  eat." 

"  I  forgot  to  ask  you,  Hetty,  if  you  had  heard 
anything  lately  of  Pat  Ryan  and  his  wife  ?"  said 
Beatrice. 

"  O  I  yes,"  said  Hetty,  "I  have  been  to  see  them 
several  times — at  least  I  have  seen  Biddy  and  the 
children.  Pat  I  only  saw  once,  after  you  left,  just 
the  day  before  he  sailed.  Poor  fellow,  he  seemed  to 
feel  parting  from  his  wife  and  children  so  much.  I 
did  not  see  him  at  the  time,  but  Biddy  told  me  that 
'he  cried  bitterly,  sure  enough.'  I  like  Pat,  he 
seems  such  a  warm-hearted  fellow." 

"  When  an  Irishman  is  a  good  husband  at  all,  he 
is  generally  a  very  good  husband,"  said  old  Mr. 
Grey,  who  had  been  sitting  quietly  reading  by  the 
fire ;  "  they  are  a  very  affectionate,  warm-hearted 
race  of  people." 


218  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"  I  remember  a  friend  of  mine,  \vho  was  an  eye- 
witness of  the  fact,  telling  me  a  very  pretty  story 
about  an  Irishman's  love  for  his  wife/'  said  Walter ; 
"  I  will  tell  it  you  while  Hetty  finishes  her  break- 
fast. It  happened  a  short  time  ago,  when  some 
f,roops  were  being  shipped  from  the  jetty  at  Kings-. 
ton,  near  Dublin,  for  some  foreign  station.  This 
poor  man  was  in  one  of  these  regiments,  which  had 
been  ordered  abroad,  and  his  heart  was  very  sore  at 
the  idea  of  parting  with  his  wife,  to  whom  he  had 
been  lately  married,  who  was  not  to  be  allowed  to 
go  with  him.  There  are  only  fourteen  soldiers  in 
every  company  who  are  allowed  to  be  married,  ac- 
cording to  English  military  law,  and  it  appears  that 
Pat  and  his  wife  had  not  obtained  this  military  per- 
mission to  be  married — being  over  the  prescribed 
number  —  yet,  nevertheless,  married  they  were. 
This  regulation  may  be  a  necessary  one,  as  far  as 
government  expenses  are  concerned,  but  certainly  it 
is  a  very  cruel  and  wrong  one  as  regards  the  men 
themselves.  So  when  the  time  came  for  embarking, 
poor  Aileen  was  told  that  she  could  not,  by  any  pos- 
sibility, be  allowed  to  follow  her  husband ;  and  it 
was  with  a  heart  almost  bursting  with  grief  that  she 
waved  farewell  to  him  from  the  quay,  while  Pat 
stood  on  the  deck  looking  at  her  in  a  terrible  state 
of  mind.  The  wife,  my  friend  told  me,  was  a  fine, 
handsome-looking  girl,  and  every  one  seemed  to  feel 


IRISH   CONSTANCY.  219 

for  and  pity  the  young  couple,  but  it  was  of  no  use ; 
military  law  knows  no  mercy.  The  anchor  was 
heaved,  and  the  ship  swung  round,  and  most  of  the 
officers  of  the  regiment  had  retired  below  into  the 
cabin.  The  poop-deck  was  already  eight  or  ten  feet 
from  the  edge  of  the  quay,  when,  with  a  groan  of 
agony  and  resolution,  Pat  made  a  tremendous  leap 
from  the  deck  to  the  shore,  and  rushing  to  his  wife,  he 
caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  with  an  almost  superhu- 
man effort  he  leaped  on  to  the  deck  again  with  the 
treasure  he  could  not  bear  to  part  from,  and  which  he 
had  thus  risked  his  life  to  obtain.  A  shout  of  admira- 
tion rose  from  the  bystanders,  and  this,  together  with 
the  crash  of  the  heavy  weight  on  the  poop,  brought  up 
the  officers;  and  on  the  circumstances  being  told 
them,  Pat  was  allowed,  to  his  great  joy,  to  take  his 
Aileen  aboard  with  him,  with  full  military  privileges." 

"That  is  a  very  pretty  story,  Walter,"  said  Hetty; 
"  but  I  wonder  he  could  possibly  leap  that  distance 
with  his  wife  in  his  arms." 

"Why  you  see,"  said  Walter,  "I  suppose  the 
deck  was  probably  a  good  bit  lower  than  the  quay, 
so  that  the  return  jump  was  the  easiest ;  but  it  is 
astonishing  what  strong  love  and  powerful  will  can 
do.  I  have  myself  seen  people  perform  feats  of 
strength,  under  the  influence  of  some  great  excite- 
ment, which  I  know  they  could  not  possibly  have 

done  in  a  cooler  moment." 
19 


220  GEEATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"It  is  just  in  the  same  way,"  said  Mr  Grey, 
"  that  a  person  can  walk  three  times  the  distance, 
when  eagerly  engaged  in  pursuit  of  any  object,  that 
he  could  if  just  taking  a  quiet,  aimless  ramble ;  the 
mind  appears  to  endue  the  body  with  wonderful 
energy." 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Grey,  "  I  have  often  felt, 
when  my  children  were  little,  that  if  any  of  them 
were  ill,  I  could  lose  my  rest  for  nights  together  sit- 
ting up  with  them  ;  and  at  another  time,  when  I 
had  nothing  to  interest  me,  if  I  only  missed  a  few 
hours'  sleep  I  should  feel  greatly  wearied." 

""Well!  I  think  Mrs.  Grant  will  be  here  directly," 
said  Mr.  Grey,  rising  from  the  breakfast  table  as 
he  spoke — "suppose  we  adjourn  to  the  study  before 
you  go  out  shopping ;  I  should  like  to  get  that 
little  business  over  of  which  we  were  speaking  last 
night,  Beatrice." 

"  Certainly,  if  you  wish  it,  I  am  ready,"  said  she, 
sighing;  and  taking  "Walter's  arm,  she  crossed  the  hall 
into  the  little  study,  followed  by  the  rest  of  the  party. 

Just  at  that  moment  Mrs.  Grant  came  in,  and  the 
will  was  read  to  them  all.  It  was  found  to  be  just 
as  Mr.  Evelyn  had  told  Beatrice.  To  his  sister 
Louisa  he  had  left  a  comfortable  maintenance  for  the 
term  of  her  natural  life,  and  after  her  death,  it  was 
to  revert  to  his  two  daughters.  The  rest  of  the  pro- 
perty, with  the  exception  of  trifling  legacies  to 


THE  WILL  OPENED.  221 

Socrates  and  one  or  two  old  servants  and  depend- 
ents, was  to  be  divided  equally  between  Beatrice  and 
Hetty ;  that  of  the  latter  remaining  under  her  sister's 
control  till  she  should  come  of  age  or  marry.  To 
Walter  Grey  were  left  President  and  the  phaeton,  and 
such  books  and  silver  plate  as  had  been  saved  from 
the  fire. 

Mrs.  Grant,  though  she  seemed  to  feel  her  bro- 
ther's kindness  in  thus  providing  for  her,  appeared 
out  of  spirits.  Hetty  had  told  her  that  she  was  to  go 
to  Mill  Town  to  live  with  her  sister,  and  to  say  the 
truth,  she  did  not  much  like  the  idea  of  being  left 
alone  in  New  York.  Beatrice  read  her  feelings  and 
begged  her  aunt  to  come  down  and  pay  them  a  visit 
as  soon  as  they  should  be  settled.  She  felt  it  wrong 
to  exhibit  any  want  of  cordiality  toward  her  aunt, 
for  though  she  was  not,  perhaps,  particularly  plea- 
sant as  a  visitor,  Beatrice  felt  it  her  duty  to  show 
her  the  respect  and  attention  due  by  a  niece.  The 
rest  of  the  morning  was  spent  in  selecting  furniture, 
crockery,  etc.  Carpets  and  curtains  could  not,  of 
course,  be  bought  till  the  house  was  decided  upon, 
and  when  Walter  should  come  back  for  his  wife 
and  Hetty,  he  was  to  bring  all  necessary  particulars 
as  to  dimensions,  that  they  might  be  able  to  take 
down  with  them  whatever  was  required. 

It  was  agreed  that  Walter  should  start,  the  follow- 
ing morning,  in  search  of  their  new  home  ;  it  was, 


222  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

indeed,  an  important  epoch  in  their  lives,  and  they 
both  felt  it  to  be  so.  The  untried  future  lay  before 
them ;  "Walter's  career  as  a  physician  was  not  yet 
begun,  and  Beatrice  was  to  be  surrounded  by  new 
faces  and  strange  scenes,  and  fresh  responsibilities. 
They  had  not  even  yet  a  dwelling-place  selected,  but 
they  both  felt  that  they  could  leave  all  trustfully  in 
the  hands  of  their  heavenly  Father — that  the  world 
was  not  to  be  their  home,  but  only  a  pilgrim  state, 
and  that  Mill  Town  was,  as  it  were,  but  an  inn  by 
the  way -side. 

"  Where  a  sunlit  isle,  so  greenly  bright, 

Lay  circled  in  ocean's  arm — 
Where  the  tall  palms  waved  in  dancing  light, 
And  the  breeze  blew  soft  and  warm — 
He  sought  himself  a  home. 

Where  the  gorgeous  town,  its  domes  of  gold 

And  turrets  bright,  upreared — 
Where  the  hum  of  multitudes  untold, 

Like  murmuring  seas,  was  heard — 
He  sought  himself  a  home. 

Where  the  hills,  with  rolling  clouds  between, 

Rose  o'er  hanging,  gentle  vales, 
Which,  bathed  in  a  glow  of  sunlit  green, 

Lay  shelter'd  from  wint'ry  gales — 
He  sought  himself  a  home. 

But  ever  and  aye  with  wearied  mind, 

He  restlessly  long'd  for  change — 
Oh  1  where  might  the  wanderer  shelter  find  ? 

Oh !  where  —  through  the  wide  earth's  rang* — 
Where  should  he  find  a  home » 


HEAVEN  OCR  HOME.  223 

As  he  lay,  one  morn,  on  his  pallet  bed, 

He  watch'd  a  lark  uprise, 
And  straight  resolv'd,  '  I  '11  bend  my  way 

The  road  the  songster  flies — 

There  will  I  find  a  home  1' 

He  watch'd  its  flight  with  anxious  gaze, 

"When  soaring  straight  on  high, 
It  turn'd  aside  to  right  nor  loft, 

But  carolled  in  the  sky — 

How  might  this  be  his  home  I 

It  seem'd  to  him  that  that  sweet  bird, 

Said, '  Seek  not  rest  below — 
Turn  not  thy  thoughts  to  earth  again — 

Sad  scene  of  grief  and  woe — 

In  Heaven  must  be  thy  home !' "— B.  Y. 


CHAPTER    X. 

"  It  is  beautiful,  it  is  glorious,  to  serve  what  one  loves.  *  *  It  may 
be  by  giving  one's  heart's  blood,  or  quite  simply  in  making  tea.  It 
is  all  the  same — it  only  depends  upon  time  and  opportunity." 

FBEDERIEA  BEEMEB. 

"  Mon  ami,  le  public  a  bon  nez,  et  ne  se  meprend  guere." 

MADAME  DE  SEVIGNE. 

IT  was  not  very  long  before  Beatrice  and  Walter 
were  settled  in  their  new  home  at  Mill  Town.  A 
house  had  been  procured  by  Walter  with  but  little 
difficulty,  and  he  had  then  returned  to  bring  his  wife, 
Hetty,  Socrates,  and  two  servant  girls,  from  New 
York.  The  new  home  was  quite  a  country  place, 
just  outside  the  town,  and  it  had  delightful  fields 
and  trees,  and  a  well-stocked  orchard  surrounding  it. 
The  trees  were  just  in  the  full  freshness  of  spring, 
and  the  blossoms  filled  the  air  with  their  sweet  per- 
fume. Along  one  side  of  the  house  lay  a  long  strip 
of  lawn,  separated  from  the  orchard  by  a  low  fence. 
This  was  prettily  laid  out  in  flower-beds,  and  many 
gay  flowerets  were  already  shining  brightly  there. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  house  rose  a  sunny  green 

(224  ) 


ME.  MELVILLE.  225 

slope,  with  a  small  word  crowning  the  summit,  and 
at  the  foot  of  this,  on  the  other  side,  ran  a  sparkling 
little  brook,  forming  the  boundary  of  the  place  in 
that  direction.  Beatrice  was  very  much  pleased 
with  it — all  things  looked  so  countrified  and  fresh, 
and  it  was  quite  conveniently  situated  for  Walter,  too. 
The  phaeton  had  been  disposed  of  in  New  York — 
exchanged  for  a  doctor's  buggy — though  President 
was,  of  course,  too  old  a  favorite  to  be  parted  with ; 
and  it  was  not  long  before  "Walter  might  be  seen 
driving  about  in  various  directions,  actively  engaged 
in  his  new  vocation.  Mill  Town,  though  as  yet  but 
small  and  scattered,  was  tolerably  populous,  and 
old  Mrs.  Grey's  relations  being  some  of  the  oldest 
residents,  it  was  easy  for  him  to  gain  introductions. 
"Walter  had  a  particularly  kind  and  gentle  manner, 
too  ;  and  this,  together  with  his  really  by-no-means- 
to-be-despised  professional  skill,  soon  procured  him 
abundant  employment. 

Beatrice  had  scarcely  arranged  her  new  house  in 
anything  like  tolerable  order,  when  their  Mill  Town 
relations  came  to  call  upon  them.  Beatrice  was 
standing  in  the  sitting-room  with  Hetty,  busily  en- 
gaged in  putting  up  muslin  window-curtains,  when 
the  door-bell  rang,  and  Socrates  ushered  in  the 
party.  By  good  fortune  "Walter  was  at  home,  and 
came  in  to  help  his  wife  to  entertain  their  visitors. 
Mr.  Melville,  the  head  of  the  family,  was  a  rather 


226          GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

stout,  yet  handsome  old  gentleman,  of  about  sixty, 
with  a  shining  bald  head,  and  dreamy-looking  gray 
eyes,  by  no  means  devoid  of  intellectual  expression. 
He  had  a  large  and  flourishing  farm,  the  boundaries 
of  which  extended  almost  to  the  confines  of  the 
Greys'  little  home.  This  farm  had  been  in  the 
family  for  four  generations,  and  was  at  present 
admirably  managed  by  the  old  steward,  Mr.  Brian 
O'Reilly,  which  was,  indeed,  a  most  fortunate  thing 
for  Mr.  Melville,  who  was  rather  of  a  philosophic 
and  literary  turn  of  mind  than  given  to  agricultural 
pursuits.  He  was  a  kind-hearted  gentleman,  not 
foolish  or  weak,  but  rather  wanting,  perhaps,  in  the 
ability  to  command  and  manage.  This  deficiency 
was,  however,  made  up  for  by  his  wife,  who  was  a 
tall,  fresh,  agile  woman,  who  seemed  always  on  the 
alert — always  on  springs — always  planning,"fixing," 
or  arranging  something.  Full  of  kindly  feeling,  yet 
warm  and  impetuous,  she  ruled  her  husband  and 
children  with  alternate  love  and  severity.  Her  only 
daughter,  Laura,  was  a  sprightly  brunette,  good- 
looking  certainly,  but  with  something  a  shade  too 
quizzing  and  cynical  in  her  expression  and  manner 
to  win  love  easily  from  strangers.  Although  by  no 
means  an  uninformed  girl,  she  allowed  herself  to  be 
the  slave  of  gossip ;  and  from  thus  interesting  her- 
self about  trifles,  she  warped  her  mind  from  its  native 
superiority.  Not  a  circumstance  that  had  occurred 


ME.  MELVILLE'S  FAMILY.  227 

in  a  neighbor's  house  was  unknown  to  Laura — not 
a  piece  of  intelligence  did  she  hear  but  it  would  fly 
like  wild-fire  over  the  parish.  It  would  have  been 
really  next  to  an  impossibility  for  Laura  to  keep  a 
secret.  She  itched  to  tell  a  piece  of  news  directly 
she  heard  it ;  and  she  really  persuaded  herself  that 
the  sly  hints  she  threw  out,  telling  the  news  by  im- 
plication, were  not  at  all  breaches  of  the  confidence 
which  had  been  reposed  in  her  by  those  intrusting 
her  with  the  secret.  Like  all  persons  of  this  class 
of  character,  she  was  given  to  remarking,  sometimes 
not  too  charitably,  upon  the  persons,  manners,  and 
household  arrangements  of  all  her  acquaintances. 
All  this,  as  Beatrice  afterward  discovered,  had  be- 
come almost  a  habit  with  poor  Laura,  who  had 
really  a  fund  of  good  nature  and  kindly  feeling  in 
her  disposition.  But  her  mother  had,  from  child- 
hood, encouraged  her  in  making  satirical  remarks, 
and  laughed  at  her  lively  repartees  and  quaint 
sallies. 

There  were  two  sons  in  the  family — the  eldest 
William,  was  a  lawyer  in  New  York.  The  second, 
Claude;  was  a  handsome,  intelligent  fellow,  of  some 
nineteen  or  twenty  years.  He  was  the  spoiled  child 
of  the  family,  and  his  mothers  especial  pet  and  pride. 
A  wild  and  wayward  nature  was  that  of  Claude,  and 
it  was  found  next  to  impossible  to  induce  him  to 
apply  himself  steadily  to  any  one  profession ;  but  he 


228  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

was  allowed  pretty  much  the  scope  of  his  own  free- 
will— his  mother  never  doubting  but  that  her  darling 
son  would  be  sure  to  distinguish  himself  some  day 
or  other ;  and  his  father,  unfortunately,  in  his  gen- 
tle, easy  way,  troubling  himself  very  little  about  the 
matter.  But  more  of  Claude  Melville  hereafter — for 
we  must  not  forget  that,  while  we  are  thus  introducing 
him  to  our  readers,  we  have  left  his  parents  and  sis- 
ter standing  in  Beatrice  Grey's  drawing-room,  mak- 
ing their  first  acquaintance  with  their  new  relation. 

Beatrice  had  a  lively  and  pleasant  manner  in  com- 
pany, which  soon  made  both  her  visitors  and  herself 
at  their  ease.  She  particularly  liked  old  Mr.  Mel- 
ville— he  seemed  so  gentle  and  fatherly,  and  showed 
so  much  quiet  good  sense  in  his  remarks.  His  wife, 
too,  seemed  inclined  to  be  very  friendly  and  agreeable, 
and  promised  to  assist  Beatrice  in  any  way  she  could, 
whether  in  domestic  matters,  or  in  making  acquaint- 
ances among  the  neighbors.  While  Walter  and 
Beatrice  entertained  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Melville,  Laura 
was  busily  chatting  with  Hetty,  and  they  finally  left 
the  room  together,  at  Laura's  request,  to  reconnoiter 
the  rest  of  the  house  and  the  garden.  After  having 
duly  surveyed  everything,  the  two  girls  continued 
for  some  time  walking  up  and  down  on  the  lawn, 
and  Laura  said  to  her  companion  : — 

"  I  know  this  place  very  well  by  sight.  A  lady 
named  Parkinson  lived  here  for  many  years,  but 


MKS.  PARKINSON.  229 

she  was  such  a  very  reserved  person  that  we  scarcely 
saw  anything  of  her.  Poor  thing!  I  remember 
sometimes,  when  I  was  passing  by  on  the  road  out- 
side, I  used  to  see  her  walking  up  and  down  here  in 
the  garden  in  a  black  dress,  with  a  book  in  her 
hand,  reading — and  she  looked  so  tall,  and  thin, 
and  care-worn,  I  pitied  her — but  I  never  liked  to  go 
in  and  seek  to  comfort  her  in  any  way,  for  she 
always  seemed  to  shun  society." 

"What  made  her  so  unhappy?"    said  Hetty. 

"  "Why,  we  heard  something  of  her  story  from  an 
old  housekeeper  of  hers,"  replied  Laura:  "Mrs. 
Parkinson  was  a  widow,  with  an  only  son — a  bad, 
vicious-looking  man,  of  dreadfully  intemperate  ha- 
bits, who  used  to  annoy  her  a  great  deal,  and  cause 
her  much  trouble  of  mind.  He  used  to  live  mostly 
in  JSTew  York,  and  when  he  got  short  of  money, 
he  would  come  down  here  and  wheedle  his  poor 
mother  out  of  nearly  all  she  possessed,  and  then  go 
back  and  spend  it  in  drinking  and  gambling,  and  all 
sorts  of  wickedness. 

"Well,  to  make  matters  worse,  this  wretched  man 
was  married,  some  years  ago,  to  a  poor,  unhappy, 
gentle  girl,  (his  second  cousin,  I  believe,)  who  little 
knew  his  character  when  she  accepted  him;  and 
after  passing  two  miserable  years  with  him,  she 
died,  poor  thing,  leaving  one  little  boy,  a  pretty, 

delicate-looking  little  fellow. 
15 


230  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"I  remember  Mamma  and  I  met  Robert  Parkinson 
and  his  little  son,  one  day,  standing  just  outside  the 
gate.  What  a  contrast  it  was — the  bloated,  red- 
faced  man,  and  the  pretty  blue-eyed  child :  it  re- 
minded me  of  an  angel  and  a  fiend. 

"Whenever  Robert  Parkinson  came  here  to  see  hia 
mother,  he  always  brought  the  child  with  him,  and 
the  old  lady  wanted  him  to  let  her  have  charge 
of  little  Francis  altogether,  and  thus  keep  him  away 
from  the  city  and  the  dreadful  places  his  father  fre- 
quented. But  it  was  of  no  use,  he  would  not  part 
with  the  child  ;  indeed  his  affection  for  him  seemed 
about  the  last  lingering  spark  of  goodness  in  his 
character. 

"  Well,  old  Mrs.  Norris  told  us,  that  one  day  last 
summer,  Mr.  Parkinson  came  down  here  from  New 
York,  in  a  dreadful  state — scarcely  sober — and  that 
there  was,  as  usual,  a  scene  of  recriminations,  en- 
treaties, and  angry  words  between  him  and  his  poor 
mother ;  and  when  he  went  away  the  old  lady  seemed 
very  low  and  miserable,  and  cried  very  much,  tell- 
ing Mrs.  Norris  that  her  son  would  break  her  heart. 
Whether  this  was  really  the  case,  I  cannot  tell ;  but 
a  few  evenings  after,  she  was  found  sitting  under, 
that  large  tree  yonder,  near  the  orchard,  with  her 
Bible  in  her  hand,  quite  dead.  She  is  buried  in  the 
church -yard  at  Mill  Town,  and  the  house  has  re- 
mained untenanted  till  now,  as  the  poor  people  about 


LAUKA  AND  HETTY.  231 

here  believe  that  her  ghost  haunts  the  garden,  gliding 
slowly  up  and  down  with  a  book  in  its  hand." 

"Poor!  poor  lady!"  said  Hetty,  sighing — "I 
can 't  say  I  am  afraid  of  the  ghost  myself,  but  I  shall 
never  see  that  old  tree  without  thinking  of  her  sad 
end." 

"  I  wonder  what  has  become  of  that  poor  little 
Francis,"  said  Laura,  "  it  does  seem  so  wretched  for 
a  child  to  be  left  among  such  people  as  his  father's 
associates." 

"It  does,  indeed,"  said  Hetty. 

"  Who  is  that  old  black  man,  working  in  the  gar- 
den ?"  asked  Laura. 

"  O !  that  is  old  Socrates,  and  a  good  old  man 
he  is  —  he  has  been  a  servant  in  our  family  ever 
since  Beatrice  was  quite  a  little  girl,  and  now  he  has 
become  so  much  attached  to  us  all,  that  he  would 
not  hear  of  leaving  us  when  dear  Papa  died,  so 
Walter  and  Beatrice  have  brought  him  down  here." 

"  Don't  you  think  you  shall  find  it  horribly  dull 
in  this  place  ?"  said  Laura. 

"  O  !  no,"  said  Hetty  ;  "  why  I  can't  fancy  how  it 
could  be  dull.  There  are  so  many,  many  things  to 
be  done  in  the  country — particularly  where  there  is 
such  a  nice  garden  as  we  have  —  and  then,  you 
know,  there  are  books,  and  music,  and  work.  Be- 
side, I  never  could  be  dull  with  Beatrice ;  and  if  all 's 
well,  I  am  to  go,  in  the  autumn,  to  stay  with  Wai- 


232  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

ter's  father  and  mother,  and  have  lessons  from  dif- 
ferent masters ;  and  I  ought  to  study  hard  during  the 
summer  months,  to  prepare  for  them — so  you  see,  I 
am  not  likely  to  feel  it  dull." 

"Well!"  said  Laura,  "I  have  books  and  music, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  but  I  find  the  place  terri- 
bly monotonous.  I  go  out  and  chat  with  neighbors 
and  pick  up  what  little  news  I  can,  or  I  don't  know 
how  I  should  get  on." 

Hetty  looked  at  her  in  some  surprise,  and  then 
said :  "  Well,  I  don't  see  what  interest  there  can  be 
in  other  people's  affairs  ;  unless  they  are  persons  we 
know  very  well,  I  shouldn't  care  to  hear  about 
them." 

"  Well !  you  're  a  queer  girl,"  said  Laura,  laugh- 
ing— "  but  come,  I  think  mamma  and  papa  will  be 
waiting  for  me ;  let  us  go  into  the  house.53 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Melville  and  Laura  soon  took 
leave,  begging  the  Greys  and  Hetty  to  come  over  to 
Springfield  and  see  them,  as  soon  as  they  could. 

"Well!  these  are  pleasant  people,  my  dear," 
said  Mr.  Melville  to  his  wife,  as  they  walked  down 
the  road  toward  their  house  ;  "  I  think  Mrs.  Grey  is 
a  remarkably  sweet  young  woman." 

"  Well !  I  've  no  fault  to  find  with  her,"  replied 
she,  "but  I'm  afraid  our  new  doctor  is  rather 
young-looking  —  why,  he  cannot  certainly  be  more 
than  twenty-five." 


BEATEICE  AND  HETTY.  233 

"Well!  Mamma,  he  looks  sober  enough,"  said 
Laura,  "  I  don't  think  I  saw  him  laugh  once  while 
we  were  in  the  room ;  but,  perhaps,  you  had  better 
make  him  a  present  of  a  pair  of  spectacles  to  give 
him  a  venerable  appearance." 

"Well!  my  dear,  he  laughed  heartily  enough 
when  you  and  the  younger  sister  were  out  of  the 
room.  I  think  him  a  very  gentlemanly  young  man, 
and  he  will  be  such  a  nice  companion  for  William 
and  Claude,  when  they  are  down  here." 

"  I  think  Henrietta  Evelyn  seems  a  very  nice 
girl,"  said  Laura,  "  and  that  is  more  than  I  usually 
say  of  any  one  after  a  first  visit.  She  is  pretty,  too, 
don't  you  think  so,  Mamma  ?" 

"Yes!  love,  she  certainly  is — but  it  is  quite  a 
different  style  of  beauty  from  that  of  her  sister,  with 
those  long,  dark  curls,  and  merry  hazel  eyes." 

"  Well !  I  feel  very  glad,  altogether,  that  they  are 
come  to  live  so  near  us,"  said  Laura. 


How  much  did  Beatrice  and  Hetty  enjoy  the 
country  that  summer !  But  little  happened  to  annoy 
them  beyond  a  few  occasional  troubles  with  ser 
vants  —  one  of  the  girls  they  brought  from  New 
York  going  away  in  a  fright,  after  hearing,  from 
some  idle  tattler,  the  foolish  story  of  old  Mrs.  Par- 
kinson's ghost. 


234  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

Aunt  Louisa  came  down  and  spent  a  month  with 
them,  and  was  never  in  such  good  humor — although, 
it  is  true,  that  she  occasionally  did-  her  best  to  keep 
her  nieces  in  order,  and  rather  fidgeted  Beatrice  by 
finding  fault  with  the  manner  in  which  various 
things  about  the  house  were  dusted,  arranged,  or 
cleaned  —  and  poor  Hetty  came  in  sometimes  for  a 
reprimand  if  there  was  the  slightest  sign  of  disorder 
in  any  part  of  her  wearing  apparel  —  nevertheless, 
matters  went  on,  in  general,  very  smoothly. 

Old  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grey  came  down  from  New 
York  several  times  in  the  course  of  the  summer, 
just  to  spend  a  day  or  two,  as  the  former  could  not 
well  be  longer  spared  from  his  ministerial  duties, 
and  there  were  several  families  around  who  were 
pleasant  neighbors,  beside  the  Melvilles,  with  whom 
they  were  very  intimate. 

It  was  one  fine  evening  about  the  middle  of  July, 
Beatrice  was  standing  leaning  over  the  fence  that 
separated  the  orchard  from  the  lawn,  talking  to  Het- 
ty, awaiting  her  husband's  return  from  visiting  a 
patient.  It  was  growing  quite  dusk,  but  it  was  so 
cool  and  pleasant,  that  it  seemed  a  pity  to  go  into 
the  house. 

It  was  not  long  before  they  saw  Walter's  buggy 
coming  slowly  along  the  road,  with  President  pro- 
ceeding at  only  a  walking  pace. 

"Dear  me!"  exclaimed  Beatrice,  "I  wonder  if 


THE  SICK  BOY.  235 

anything  is  the  matter !  Why  can  Walter  be  driving 
BO  slowly  ?"  and  she  ran  down  the  garden  walk, 
followed  by  her  sister.  They  soon  saw  that  Walter 
was  leaning  down  over  some  object  resting  on  his 
left  arm,  while  with  his  right  he  guided  the  reins; 
and  he  appeared  to  be  so  intently  absorbed,  that  it 
was  not  till  the  buggy  came  close  to  his  wife  and 
sister,  that  he  perceived  they  were  there. 

"  O !  come  on  to  the  house,  dear  Bee !"  he  ex- 
claimed, "  make  haste,  love,  and  I  will  tell  you  all!" 

Beatrice  started  when  she  saw  Walter  lift  from 
the  buggy  what  seemed  to  be  the  inanimate  body 
of  a  little  boy.  His  jacket  and  trowsers,  though  of 
fine  cloth,  were  soiled  and  dusty,  and  his  fair  hair 
clustered  thickly  round  a  forehead  that  was  pale  and 
cold  as  marble ;  his  eyes  were  closed,  and  Beatrice 
would  have  thought  him  dead,  had  not  Walter  has- 
tily assured  her  to  the  contrary. 

"  I  am  going  to  carry  him  up-stairs  and  lay  him 
on  your  bed,  Hetty,"  said  Walter.  "Poor  little  fel- 
low !  I  discovered  him  just  in  time,"  continued  he, 
going  slowly  up  the  staircase  with  his  burden. 
"  He  was  lying  in  a  ditch  about  half  a  mile  from 
the  house,  and  it  was  so  dusk  I  could  scarcely  dis- 
cover what  it  was  among  the  thick,  dank  green  grass ; 
but  I  got  out  of  the  buggy  to  see,  and  found  him  in 
this  state.  Where  he  comes  from  we  cannot  tell  til* 
he  is  restored  to  consciousness." 
20 


236  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

It  was  with  a  careful  and  gentle  hand  that  Bea- 
trice, under  her  husband's  superintendence,  knelt 
by  the  bedside  of  the  little  sufferer,  and  adminis 
tered  the  necessary  restoratives ;  and  it  was  not  very 
long  before  he  opened  his  blue  eyes  and  looked  at 
her  for  a  moment,  and  then  closed  them  again  with 
a  helpless  sigh  of  weakness.  After  the  lapse  of  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  he  seemed  somewhat  revived, 
and  began  looking  curiously  and  anxiously  around 
him.  Beatrice  whispered  in  his  ear :  "  Do  not  be 
alarmed,  dear  child ;  there  are  none  but  friends 
here." 

"  Where  am  1 2"  said  the  little  boy.  "  O  !  I  'm 
so  glad  to  be  out  of  that  dusty  road.  Is  this  my 
grandmamma's  ?  I  was  coming  to  my  grandmam- 
ma's. Haughty  men  took  poor  Papa  away,  and 
turned  me  into  the  street,  so  I  came  to  look  for  my 
grandmamma." 

Beatrice  made  him  be  quiet  for  the  present,  for 
he  was  too  weak  to  talk  much,  and  he  soon  fell  into 
a  refreshing  sleep.  About  nine  o'clock,  after  tea, 
Beatrice  again  came  up-stairs  to  visit  her-  little 
patient,  and  found  him  awake,  and  looking  consid- 
erably better.  The  little  fellow  raised  himself  on 
one  elbow,  and  looked  inquiringly  round  the  room. 

"In  my  grandmamma's  room,"  he  said,  "there 
was  a  blue  paper  like  this ;  but  you  are  not-  my 
grandmamma ;  she  was  tall,  and  had  a  white  cap 


FKANCTS  PARKINSON.  237 

on.  Will  you  fetch  her,  please  ?  She  was  always 
good  to  poor  Franky." 

"  "Why,  Beatrice,"  said  Hetty,  who  was  in  the 
room,  "this  must  surely  be  little  Francis  Parkinson! 
the  grandson,  you  know,  of  the  old  lady  who  used 
to  live  here.  Isn't  your  name  Francis  Parkinson, 
dear?" 

"No,  but  my  Papa's  name  is  Mr.  Parkinson," 
said  the  child,  eagerly  fixing  his  blue  eyes  on  Hetty. 
"  My  name  is  Frauky,  and  I  had  a  grandmamma 
who  lived  near  here,  and  had  a  room  like  this,  and 
her  name  was  'grandmamma  mother,'  I  think,  for 
I  used  to  call  her  Grandmamma,  and  Papa  used  to 
call  her  '  mother.' " 

"  You  are  quite  right  you  see,  Hetty,"  said  her 
sister,  "  it  is  the  same  child.  Poor  little  fellow ! 
what  is  to  be  done  with  him  ?" 

Little  Francis  had  raised  himself  half  out  of  the 
bed,  and  now  said  to  Beatrice : 

"  I  'm  sure  this  must  be  my  grandmamma's  room. 
This  is  the  same  old  bed  that  Papa  and  I  used  to 
sleep  in,  for  here's  a  place  where  I  scratched  the 
wood  with  a  pin  to  make  a  picture  of  Papa,  and 
then  I  know  he  scolded  me,  and  said  that  grand- 
mamma didn't  like  her  beds  scratched." 

"  It  is  your  grandmamma's  house,"  said  Beatrice, 
"  but  she  is  gone  a  long  way  off,  so  I  must  be  kind 
to  you  to-night.  Lie  down  now,  Franky,  and  go  to 


238  GREATNESS   IN   LlTTLE   THINGS. 

sleep,  and  I  will  tell  you  more  about  her  to-morrow. 
I  am  going  to  send  you  up  some  nice  new  milk  and 
a  bun  for  your  supper ;  so  now  good  night,  dear 
cnild." 

Little  Francis  was  easily  pacified,  and  when  he 
awoke  next  morning,  he  was  surprisingly  better,  and 
although  still  weak,  he  was  able  to  walk  about  with 
Hetty. 

It  appeared  that  somehow  or  other  the  poor  child 
had  managed  to  make  his  way  from  New  York  to 
Hartford,  having  a  little  money  in  his  pocket,  and 
having  frequently  traveled  the  same  journey  with 
his  father ;  that  on  arriving  at  Hartford  he  began  to 
walk  along  the  Mill  Town  road,  and  met  a  man 
with  a  cart,  who  took  him  up  and  carried  him  some 
considerable  distance,  and  then  set  him  down,  and 
the  little  fellow  trotted  on,  the  best  way  he  could — 
asking  of  all  he  met  the  way  to  Mill  Town,  and 
occasionally  buying  a  cake  or  a  piece  of  bread ;  and 
that  he  had  nearly  reached  his  late  grandmother's 
house,  when  the  unwonted  exertion,  and  the  fatigue 
induced  by  walking  so  far  on  a  hot  summer's  day, 
completely  overcame  him,  and  he  lay  down  in  a 
ditch  by  the  wayside,  where  he  was  found  by  Walter. 

What  surprised  them  all  was  how  so  young  a 
child  could  have  found  his  way  so  far!  But  so  it 
was — and  it  now  only  remained  to  be  decided  what 
was  the  best  thing  to  do  with  him.  It  was  at  length 


THE  SEARCH.  239 

settled  that  Walter  should  go  to  New  York  and  en- 
deavor to  find  out  Mr.  Parkinson ;  for  certainly,  bad 
though  he  appeared  to  be,  he  had  the  best  claim  to 
the  child,  and  it  would  not  be  right  to  dispose  of 
little  Francis  without  consulting  him. 

There  was  something  peculiarly  sweet  and  love- 
able,  about  the  little  fellow :  it  seemed  as  though 
scenes  of  coarse  revelry  and  wickedness,  had  passed 
by  him  with  their  foul  breath,  and  left  him  unpol- 
luted. There  was  a  shade  of  melancholy  sadness, 
over  his  little  pale  face,  and  a  delicate  transparency 
in  hie  cheek,  that  reminded  ope  of  a  fragile  hot- 
house flower. 

He  appeared  very  much  grieved,  when  told  of  his 
grandmother's  death.  He  said  the  garden  looked 
very  dull,  without  grandmamma  and  her  brown 
Bible— "she  used  to  tell  me  about  the  Bible," 
continued  he — "and  our  dear  Saviour,  and  the 
beautiful  angels — and  such  nice  things :  once,  Papa 
left  me  here  for  three  days  ;  oh !  that  was  such 
a  nice  time !  it  was  so  quiet  and  still  in  this 
pretty  garden ;  and  people,  where  we  go  in  to  New 
York,  seem  always  to  make  such  a  noise — and  they 
never  talk  about  the  angels  at  all — and  when  they 
say  God's  name,  they  don't  seem  as  if  they  loved 
him." 

Beatrice  looked  at  Hetty,  and  smiled  a  sad  smile : 
it  was  sweet  to  see  so  pure-minded  a  child,  and  it 


240  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

was  sad  indeed,  to  think  to  what  he  had  been 
exposed. 

Walter  resolved  to  start,  the  following  day,  in 
search  of  Mr.  Parkinson,  but  how  to  discover  his 
whereabouts  he  could  not  tell.  At  last  Beatrice 
suggested,  that  they  might  probably  be  able  to  gain 
some  intelligence  concerning  him  from  Mrs.  Norris, 
the  old  housekeeper,  who  had  lived  with  his  mother 
RO  many  years.  After  her  mistress'  death,  she  had 
rented  a  small  cottage  in  Mill  Town,  and  Beatrice 
and  Hetty  walked  over  to  see  her,  and  learned 

from  her,  that  the  II hotel,  in  New  York,  was 

the  place  where  Mr.  Parkinson  usually  boarded ; 
for  she  said,  she  had  seen  the  direction  often  on 
his  carpet-bag — but  beyond  that,  she  knew  nothing. 

We  will  not  weary  our  readers  with  an  account 
of  all  the  annoyances  experienced  by  Walter,  while 
endeavoring  to  find  out  the  wretched  Mr.  Parkinson. 
He  learned  from  the  waiter  at  the  hotel  mentioned 
by  old  Mrs.  Norris,  that  he  had  been  boarding 
there,  till  very  lately,  and  that  he  was  in  the  habit 

of  frequenting  a  gambling-house  on street ;  but 

that  a  few  nights  before  (evidently  the  occasion 
referred  to  by  little  Francis)  the  police  had  entered 
the  house  at  a  late  hour  of  the  night,  and  arrested 
several  of  the  party,  turning  the  rest  of  the  people 
in  the  place,  out  into  the  street,  and  locking  up  the 
doors.  The  waiter  said  he  had  seen  in  the  papers 


THE  SEARCH.  241 

that  Mr.  Parkinson  and  several  others,  had  been 
discharged  from  custody,  the  following  day,  after 
paying  a  fine,  and  that  he  had  come  to  the  hotel, 
making  inquiry  for  his  little  boy,  and  that  he  seemed 
a  good  deal  distressed,  when  told  that  nothing  had 
been  seen  of  him ;  "  but  he  did  not  appear  to  un- 
derstand much  else,  or  to  know  how  to  set  about 
looking  for  him,  sir,"  continued  the  waiter,  "  for  he 
was  most  too  far  gone  in  liquor,  at  the  time ;  indeed 
1  may  say,  I  have  hardly  ever  seen  him  sober,  sir, 
and  his  health  has  failed  a  good  deal,  of  late. 
That  poor  child  had  a  sad  life  with  his  father,  though 
in  general,  I  guess,  he  was  pretty  kind  to  him, 
unless  he  was  more  than  ordinary-ways  drunk — and 
then,  may-be,  he  would  ill-treat  him  a  bit:  but  the 
little  fellow  never  complained,  and  he  would  color 
up  and  seem  as  fierce-like  as  possible,  if  he  heard 
any  one  saying  anything  ag'in'  his  father.  I'm 
right  glad,  sir,  to  hear  as  you've  got  the  little  chap 
safe  in  the  country — " 

"I  wish  I  could  find  out  his  father,"  said  Walter 

"Well,   sir,  as  I  said   before,  he  left  this  'ere 

hotel  some  days  ago,  and  where  he 's  gone  I  can't 

tell.     May-be  if  you  advertised  he  wouldn't  see  it, 

for  I  guess,  he  ain't  much  given  to  reading." 

Walter  thanked  the  man  for  his  information,  and 
again  walked  out  into  the  street,  very  much  unde- 


242  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

oided  how  to  act — indeed  he  almost  gave  up  the  idea 
of  searching  for  Mr.  Parkinson,  it  seemed  so  hopeless 
in  such  a  city  as  New  York,  and  he  resolved  that 
the  rest  of  that  day  should  be  spent  quietly  at  his 
father's  house,  which  was,  of  course,  his  home, 
while  in  the  city. 

The  next  day,  as  Walter  was  slowly  walking 
along  in  one  of  the  most  crowded  thoroughfares  of 
the  city,  he  passed  by  an  undertaker's  store,  and 
happening,  accidentally,  to  look  in,  he  saw  standing 
there  a  young  man,  of  rather  dandyish  appearance,' 
whose  features  seemed  familiar  to  him.  He  stopped 
and  looked  again — it  was  Claude  Melville. 

"Why  Claude!  what  are  you  doing  here?"  ex- 
claimed Walter,  in  astonishment  —  "  this  is  the 
place  that,  of  all  others,  I  should  least  have  ex- 
pected to  find  you  in  !" 

Claude  did  not  look  particularly  glad  to  see 
Walter,  he  started  and  colored  slightly,  when  the 
latter  entered  the  store,  but  he  advanced  to  meet 
him,  and  shaking  hands,  he  said,  with  a  forced 
laugh:  "  Well,  to  say  the  truth,  it  is ;  but  you  see, 
I  'm  getting  a  coffin  for  a  friend  of  mine — an  unfor- 
tunate fellow  who's  done  for  himself  at  last — though 
he  was  a  jolly  dog,  too."  Walter  looked  grave,  and 
said  quietly :  v 

"  What  was  his  name,  Claude  2" 


PARKINSON'S  DEATH.  243 

""Well,  his  name  was  Parkinson.  1  believe  he 
had  a  mother  who  used  to  live  somewhere  near  that 
slow  place.  Mill  Town." 

"  Good  God  !"  said  Walter;  "  why  that's  the  very 
man  I'm  in  search  of,  Claude.  His  boy  found  his 
way  down  to  our  house  to  look  for  his  grandmother, 
and  I  came  up  to  see  if  I  could  gain  any  tidings  of 
the  father !" 

"  Well,  then,  you  needn't  look  any  more,"  said 
Claude,  in  a  surly  tone — "and  it  wasn't  a  doctor 
killed  him  this  time,  but  an  accident.  I  suppose 
you  've  heard  about  those  rowdy  policemen  coming 
and  turning  us  all  out  in  the  middle  of  our  game, 
the  other  night !  Well,  next  day,  when  we  were  let 
out  of  that  confounded  watch-house,  we  first  went 
and  had  a  glass  of  something  to  keep  our  spirits  up, 
and  then  Parkinson  went  off  to  the  hotel  he  used  to 
board  at,  to  see  if  he  could  find,  that  little  pale-faced 
brat  of  his,  that  he  always  would  carry  about  with 
him,  and  during  the  next  day  or  two  he  was  quite  in 
the  dumps  because  he  could  hear  nothing  of  him;  so 
last  night,  I  and  one  or  two  other  fellows  got  him  to 
come  and  have  a  spree,  and  we  made  him  gloriously 
drunk  —  well,  a  little  too  much  so  —  for  in  coming 
home  Parkinson's  foot  slipped,  and  he  fell  with  his 
head  on  the  curb-stone,  and  never  spoke  again.  So 
there 's  the  end  of  it,  if  you  wish  to  know.  I  'm  sorry 
for  him,  myself,  for  he  was  a  jolly  sort  of  fellow!" 
21 


244  GKEATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"Oh!  Claude,  Claude!"  said  Walter,  "how  can 
you  talk  in  that  heartless  way!  To  think — oh !  only 
to  think,  that  you  should  yourself  have  had,  as  it 
were,  some  share  in  his  death,  and  then  be  able  to 
speak  of  it  so  lightly !" 

"How  dare  you  say  that  I  had  any  share  in 
his  death,  sir !"  said  Claude,  his  color  rising  as  he 
spoke ;  "  why,  good  gracious !  I  've  often  got  heady 
myself,  but  then  I  never  happened  to  fall  on  the 
curb-stone  —  why,  how  absurd  you  are,  Walter 
Grey!" 

"Why,  Claude!"  said  Walter,  earnestly— "you 
will  allow  even  to  yourself,  that  this  drunkenness 
was  the  cause  of  this  unfortunate  wretch's  death — 
drunkenness,  too,  encouraged  by  you,  according  to 
your  own  confession — what  is  the  inference?  how- 
ever, I  leave  that  to  your  own  conscience.  Only  let 
me  entreat  you  to  take  the  warning  home,  and  see 
to  what  a  beastly  state  the  habit  of  intoxication 
reduces  a  man." 

"Don't  lecture  me,  sir,"  said  Claude,  angrily ;  ;<I 
hate  your  milksops  of  men  !  Now,  I  dare  say  you 
were  never  drunk  in  your  life ! — and  let  me  tell 
you,  I  despise  you  for  it  —  such  a  tame,  sneaking 
way  of  living !" 

"  I  should  certainly  feel  greatly  ashamed,"  said 
Walter,  calmly— "  if  I  thought  I  had  ever  thus 
degraded  myself.  I  should  be  sorry  so  far  to  lose  all 


WALTER'S  ADVICE.  245 

self- respect  as  to  be  capable  of  doing  such  a  thing. 
Is  there  any  true  heroism  in  sin,  Claude?  is  it  not 
far,  far  nobler  to  conquer  the  evil  passions  of  our 
nature,  than  weakly  to  yield  to  them?  can  it  be 
anything  worthy  of  admiration  for  man,  a  mere 
worm,  to  exalt  himself  against  God,  who  is  all  great- 
lies,  all  goodness,  all  purity  ?  Oh !  believe  me,  be- 
lieve me,  Claude !  that  these  things  only  bring  misery 
and  unhappiness,  and  lower  you  in  the  eyes  of  those 
whose  opinion  is  the  best  worth  having." 

"Well!"  said  Claude,  somewhat  softened ;  "I'm 
not  going  on  in  this  way  always.  I  intend  settling 
down  quite  steadily  some  day  or  other." 

"Believe  me,  Claude,  once  more!"  said  Walter, 
"  that  you  cannot  *  touch  pitch  and  not  be  defiled' — 
you  cannot  indulge  in  sinful  pleasures  and  be  the 
same  man,  afterward,  as  if  you  had  not  done  so — 
you  may  repent,  you  may  be  sorry  in  after  years, 
but  oh !  you  can  never  be  the  same.  And  beside, 
who  can  reckon,  with  any  certainty,  on  having  these 
years  of  the  future  to  repent  in  ?  Look  at  poor  Par* 
kinson — how  little  did  he  think  last  night  would  be 
his  last !" 

Claude  made  no  reply  ;  at  last  he  said — "  I  say, 
Grey,  don't  you  mention,  at  home,  about  seeing  me 
here — there's  a  good  fellow — they'd  be  bothering 

themselves  as  to  how  I  got  acquainted  with  Parkin- 
16 


246  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

son;  and,  perhaps,  the  less  that  is  said  about  that 
the  better." 

"  I  won't  betray  you,"  said  "Walter,  "  only  let  me 
beg  of  you  to  try  and  be  steadier.  Pray,  do  you 
know  if  Mr.  Parkinson  had  anything  to  leave  to  his 
child  ?" 

"Bless  you,  no,  man;  why  since  his  mother's 
death — when  he  had  spent  what  little  money  she 
left  —  he  has  just  lived  by  gambling;  at  one  time, 
perhaps,  owning  a  good  bit,  and  then  losing  it  all 
again ;  so  I  guess  you  won't  gain  much  if  you  mean 
to  take  care  of  the  child." 

"  O !  never  mind,"  said  "Walter,  "  we  shall  be 
able  to  arrange  all  that,  I  dare  say.  Good  morning." 

"When  Walter  returned  to  Oakwood,  it  was  de- 
cided by  himself  and  Beatrice  that  little  Francis 
should  be  adopted  as  an  inmate  of  their  family 
To  the  future  they  would  not  selfishly  look  forward, 
by  thinking  whether  the  child  might  be  a  burden 
and  inconvenience  to  them — their  line  of  duty,  for 
the  present,  seemed  to  be  to  befriend  and  protect 
him ;  and  there  -was  something  so  sweet  and  win- 
ning in  the  little  fellow's  looks  and  ways  that  they 
both  felt  it  would  be  a  task  of  love. 

Many  people  wondered  at  it ;  but  when  will  peo- 
ple cease  to  wonder  at  one-another's  actions  ?  The 
Greys  felt  the  child  to  be  cast  on  their  sympathy 


WELCOME  LETTERS.  247 

and  love,  and  richly  were  they  rewarded ;  but  more 
hereafter  of  little  Francis. 

Two  or  three  times  during  that  summer  Beatrice 
received  letters  from  Madame  de  Tremonille — kind- 
hearted,  affectionate  letters  —  telling  of  herself  and 
all  her  doings— of  little  Blanche,  who,  she  said,  had 
become  dearer  to  her  than  ever  —  and  of  all  the 
friends  whom  Beatrice  had  known  during  her  West 
India  sojourn. 

And  these  letters  were  welcomed  by  Beatrice  with 
great  joy,  for  their  perusal  brought  back  vividly  be- 
fore her  mind  an  epoch  in  her  own  life,  too  strik- 
ingly fraught  both  with  sorrow  and  with  joy  to  be 
unmarked  or  unremembered 


CHAPTER  XI. 

•*  How  many  summers,  love, 

Have  I  been  thine  ? 
How  many  days,  thou  dove, 

Hast  thou  been  mine  ? 
Look  where  our  children  start, 

Like  sudden  spring; 
With  tongue  all  sweet  and  low, 

Like  a  pleasant  rhyme, 
They  tell  how  much  I  owe 

To  thee  and  thine." 
55 ABET  CORNWALL'S  "POET'S  SONG  TO  HIS  WIFE." 

"  We  have  been  friends  together,  in  sunshine  and  in  shade, 
Since  first  beneath  the  chestnut-tree,  in  infancy  we  played  ; 
But  coldness  dwells  within  thy  heart — a  cloud  is  on  thy  brow  — 
We  have  been  friends  together— can  a  light  word  part  us  now !" 

FOUR  years  have  rolled  away  since  we  took  our 
last  peep  at  Oaktfood  and  its  inhabitants.  Four 
years !  what  changes  may  not  take  place  in  four 
years ;  and  if  we  look  again  at  Oakwood,  we  shall 
find  that  Time  has  wrought  some  changes  there. 

Merry  voices  are  heard  now  on  the  soft  green 
grass  before  the  house,  for  little  Clement,  Beatrice's 
eldest  child,  a  rosy  boy  of  three  summers,  is  shout- 
ing in  a  game  of  play  with  a  beautiful  but  pale-faced 
(248) 


A  FAMILY  PICTURE.  249 

boy  of  nine  or  ten — our  old  friend,  little  Francis — 
and  baby  Mary  comes,  half-creeping,  half-walking 
along,  rattling  her  coral-and -bells,  and  screaming 
with  delight  at  the  fun  she  is  too  small  to  understand. 
Beatrice  has  grown  somewhat  more  matronly  than 
when  we  saw  her  last,  but  she  looks  as  beautiful  and 
as  loving  as  ever,  sitting  in  that,  rustic  garden -seat 
with  a  piece  of  work  in  her  hands,  watching  her 
childrens'  sports,  and  ever  and  anon  laughing  as 
merrily  as  themselves.  But  we  will  follow  the 
doings  of  herself  and  her  household  for  awhile. 

She  was  roused  at  last,  by  hearing  her  husband's 
voice  behind  her  whistling,  and  holding  out  his  fin- 
ger to  the  baby,  who  toddled  to  meet  him.  Seating 
himself  by  his  wife's  side,  he  said : 

"  "Well,  Bee,  I  have  had  a  hard  day's  work,  and  am 
quite  glad  to  get  a  quiet  rest.  How  is  Hetty  now  P 

Beatrice's  expression  changed  as  she  replied : 
"  Well,  poor  girl,  she  seems  veiy  low-spirited.  I  'm 
sure  I  do  not  know  how  to  act  for  the  best,  Walter. 
She  is  up-stairs  in  her  room  now,  and  when  she 
came  down,  half  an  hour  ago,  to  fetch  something,  her 
eyes  looked  as  though  she  had  been  crying  a  good 
deal.  Dear  Hetty !  I  cannot  bear  that  she  should 
be  unhappy ;  and  yet  I  feel  sometimes  as  if  it  were 
better  to  leave  her  to  herself,  and  let  her  think 
calmly  over  the  matter." 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Walter,  sorrowfully,  "I  could 


250  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

wish  she  and  Claude  Melville  had  never  met !  He 
is  so  utterly  unworthy  of  her ;  and  yet  she,  with  her 
trusting,  loving,  impulsive  heart,  won't  believe  it — 
and  that's  the  worst  of  it,  dear  wife — and  she  so 
young  too!  why  she's  not  more  than  seventeen,  is 
ehe  ?" 

"  She  will  be  .eighteen  in  the  autumn,"  replied 
Beatrice ;  "  I  can't  think  what  there  is  in  Claude 
Melville  to  win  such  love  and  admiration — he  is  so 
unlike  Hetty— though  he's  certainly  a  handsome 
man,  too — " 

"  If  one  could  only  place  the  slightest  dependence 
on  him,"  said  Walter,  in  a  tone  of  vexation.  "He 
seems  sincere  now  in  his  profession  of  love  for 
Hetty — and  what  wonder  is  it  that  she  should  win 
that  love,  handsome  and  lovable  as  she  is  ?  But 
oh  dear !  Bee,  what  are  Claude's  habits  ! — those  of  a 
roue  at  twenty -three:  the  pity  and  the  wonder  is, 
that  TIG  should  win  her  love — " 

"Well,  Walter,  after  all,  it  is  only  candid  to 
confess,  that  Claude  can  be  very  amusing  and  plea- 
sant, when  he  likes.  Why,  in  spite  of  all  his 
wildness  and  follies,  he  is  the  life  of  the  house 
whenever  he  is  at  home:  there  are  few  people  I 
know,  who  can  make  sketches,  or  sing  a  song,  or 
entertain  a  company  of  friends  better  than  he  can — " 

"Here's  Hetty  just  coming  out  on  the  lawn," 
said  Walter ;  "  do  not  let  us  worry  her  about  it 


CLAUDE  AND  HETTY.  251 

now — let  her  enjoy  a  game  of  play  with  the  child- 
ren, and  then  you  can  speak  to  her  privately  on  the 
subject,  dear  wife — perhaps  that  will  be  the  beso 
way." 

Hetty  came  slowly  across  the  lawn:  she  has 
grown  into  a  fine  and  beautiful  young  woman,  since 
we  saw  her  last !  Her  face  now  wore  a  sad  expression, 
but  it  brightened  when  little  Clement  and  Francis 
welcomed  her  with  a  joyous  shout,  and  running  up 
to  her,  begged  her  to  come  and  play  with  them. 
The  evening  was  closing  around  them — the  light 
of  a  soft  summer's  day  was  fast  waning  in  the 
western  sky.  Walter  went  into  the  house  and  sat 
down  to  read  a  book  in  the  drawing-room,  after 
the  lamp  had  been  lighted;  little  Francis  fetched 
his  accordion,  and  sat  on  one  of  the  low  window- 
sills,  playing  his  favorite  melodies.  The  child  had  a 
peculiarly  accurate  ear  for  music:  indeed  music 
was,  with  him,  a  passion — it  seemed  a  part  of  him- 
self— to  thrill  through  his  whole  being.  He  could 
already  find  out  tunes  by  ear,  on  Beatrice's  piano- 
forte, and  accompany  himself  with  his  sweet, 
melodious,  childish  voice.  There  was  something 
that  was  perhaps,  scarcely  appertaining  to  a  boy's 
nature  in  Francis :  he  was  so  very  gentle,  and 
quiet,  and  sensitive.  He  was  beloved  by  the  whole 
household :  no  one  could  harm  Francis,  or  have 
the  heart  to  tease  him.  The  slightest  word  of 


252  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

anger,  would  wound  him  to  the  quick,  and  to  Bea 
trice  and  Walter,  he  looked  up  as  to  a  father  and 
mother ;  and  they  truly  loved  the  gentle  boy,  who 
was  so  kind  to  their  little  ones,  and  who  repaid  their 
kindness  by  such  unwearied  and  devoted  love.  He 
now  sat  playing  familiar  airs,  in  a  kind  of  dreamy 
happiness,  alone  and  undisturbed — for  Beatrice 
had  gone  up-stairs  to  see  her  little  ones  to  bed,  and 
Hetty  was  still  walking  up  and  down  the  garden- 
path  in  a  kind  of  melancholy  reverie. 

The  closing  darkness  had  begun  to  render  sur- 
rounding objects  very  indistinct,  when  Hetty  heard 
a  low  whistle  on  the  other  side  of  the  garden-hedge, 
which  she  knew  but  too  well.  It  was  Claude  ;  and 
gliding  softly  along,  in  a  moment  she  was  by  his 
side. 

"Is  that  you,  my  Hetty?"  he  said  ;  "I  hoped 
you  might  hear  me! — how  glad  I  am  you  could 
come,  sweet  love — " 

"  Oh !  Claude,  I  am  very,  very  unhappy,"  sobbed 
Hetty,  leaning  her  head  against  his  shoulder. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  darling?  have  that 
bothering  old  brother  and  sister  of  yours  been 
plaguing  you  ?" 

"Oh!  please,  don't  speak  of  them  in  that  way, 
Claude — they  are  so  kind  ;  they  only  wish  me  to  be 
happy,  I  'm  sure — I  'in  sure  they  do — " 

"  Well  then,  why  do  they  make  this  fuss?"  asked 


CLAUDE  AND  HETTY.  253 

Claude,  impatiently ;  "  shall  we  not  be  happy 
together,  dear  Hetty?  I'm  sure  no  one  could  love 
you  half  as  well  as  I  do !" 

"  I  know  you  love  mo,  dear  Claude,"  said  Hetty, 
trustfully  ; — but  when  I  hear  things  said  against 
you,  I  like  to  hear  from  yourself,  that  they  are 
false — of  course,  I  know  they  must  be — " 

"What  things,  dearest — tell  me;  what  can  they 
find  to  say  against  me  ?"  Hetty  hesitated. 

"Why,  Claude,  they  have  spoken,"  said  she 
timidly,  as  if  you  were  sometimes  too  fond  of  drink, 
and  of  gambling ;  but,  you  know,  I  did  not  believe 
them;  I  only  like  to  tell  you  about  it,  that  you 
may  know  why  they  do  not  wish  us  to  see  more  of 
each  other." 

Claude  flinched  a  little,  as  he  thought  of  all  that 
"Walter  Grey  knew  of  his  going  on,  and  Beatrice, 
too,  for  aught  he  could  tell ;  but  he  said,  hurriedly  : 
"  Nonsense,  dear  Hetty ;  have  you  ever  seen  me 
tipsy,  or  betting,  or  anything  of  the  kind?  You 
should  never  believe  idle  reports  without  seeing 
the  truth  for  yourself.  Beside,"  he  added,  "if  I 
have  done  wrong  sometimes,  dear  Hetty,  I  mean  to 
be  very  good  now ;  you  are  going  to  make  me  BO, 
you  know." 

"  God  only  can  make  us  good :  you  must  not  say 
that,  Claude,"  said  Hetty,  gravely. 


254:  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"  O  !  I  know,"  said  he,  carelessly  ;  "  I  meant  that, 
only  I  did  n't  express  it.  I  feel  I  shall  owe  you  a 
great  deal,  Hetty.  Yon  know,  I  have  never  hap- 
pened to  find  a  profession  to  suit  me,  and  if  we 
can  manage  to  stock  the  farm  I  was  speaking  of, 
with  part  of  your  money,  why  we  shall  be  quite 
rich,  and  as  happy  as  the  days  are  long.  It  will 
seem  like  being  dependent  on  my  sweet  little  wife  at 
first,  but  never  mind  !  we  shall  do  great  things  yet, 
and  there  shall  not  be  such  another  farm  in  the 
whole  country  as  ours.  Do  not  you  trust  me,  dear 
girl?" 

"  I  do,  I  do,  Claude.  I  will  not  mind  what  is 
said  of  you — have  I  not  said  I  will  be  yours  ?  Whole 
worlds  could  not  separate  us  now — that  is,  if  your 
love  is  the  same." 

"My  life!  what  have  I  without  you?"  said 
Claude,  kissing  her.  "  Be  firm,  love,  and  all  will 
go  right.  You  know  the  old  saying  is, — "  The 
course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth." 

"I.  must  go  in,  now,  Claude;  I'm  afraid  I  have 
already  lingered  too  long.  Beatrice  will  be  won- 
dering what  has  become  of  me.  Good-night,  dear 
Claude." 

"  Good-night,  darling,  if  you  must  go." 

She  was  at  the  house  in  a  minute.  Oh  !  what  a 
trusting  loving  heart  that  was!  yet  oh!  how  mis- 


THE  DISCLOSURE.  255 

its  trust !  Sweet  Hetty !  why  close  your  ears 
to  the  voice  of  warning  till  it  be  too  late  ?  Why  did 
Hetty  color  like  a  guilty  thing,  when  on  stepping 
\nto  the  drawing-room  she  saw  both  Walter  and 
Beatrice  look  up  at  her  from  where  they  were  quietly 
flitting,  reading  and  working  ?  Why  was  it  ?  It 
was  not  that  she  meant  to  use  deception — for  she 
had  determined  to  tell  Beatrice  of  what  Claude  had 
xsaid  of  himself  and  of  her  having  seen  him  in  the 
garden.  Hetty  was  impulsive  and  hasty,  but  she 
nad  a  soul  above  deceit — it  had  no  place  in  her 
character — and  she  looked  up  to  Beatrice  as  to  a 
mother,  although  in  this  instance,  perhaps  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life,  she  thought  her  mistaken — mis- 
taken with  reference  to  Claude.  Neither  her  sister 
nor  Walter,  however,  made  any  remark  to  her  at  the 
present  moment,  to  her  great  relief;  and  she  soon 
after  went  to  bed,  pleading  a  headache  as  an  excuse 
for  retiring  early. 

Next  morning,  while  they  were  all  sitting  at 
breakfast,  a  letter  came  in  from  New  York,  from  old 
Mrs.  Grey  to  Beatrice.  The  latter  bit  her  lip  with 
vexation  as  she  read  it ;  it  was  a  congratulatory  let- 
ter on  the  approaching  marriage  of  Claude  and 
Hetty!  The  old  lady  said  "she  had  received  the 
news  that  morning  from  Laura  Melville,  and  that  she 
was,  indeed,  surprised  to  hear  it — having  received 
no  hint  on  the  subject  from  either  her  son  or  her 


256  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

daughter-in-law.  Laura  had  enjoined  profound 
secrecy  on  the  subject,"  she  continued,  "  but  that 
she  did  not  suppose  it  probable  that  the  injunction 
should  extend  to  Beatrice,  as  it  was  so  unlikely  that 
Hetty  and  Claude  should  be  engaged  without  her 
knowledge  and  consent."  Walter  looked  up  in  snr- 
prise  at  his  wife,  as  she  read  the  letter,  and  then 
turning  to  Hetty,  whose  face  was  crimsoned  with 
blushes,  he  said  almost  sternly  : — 

"Hetty,  how  could  you  think  of  letting  Claude 
speak  publicly  of  your  engagement  in  his  own  fam- 
ily ?  Why  did  matters  go  so  far  without  your  sister 
and  myself  knowing  it  ?" 

"  Oh  1  Walter,  Walter,  indeed  I  had  nothing  to 
do  with  it,"  said  Hetty,  bursting  into  tears.  "  Claude 
said  one  day,  that  he  had  told  his  mother,  privately, 
that  we — that  we — loved  each  other,  and  that  she  said 
she  was  very  glad  of  it ;  but  more  than  this  he  pro- 
mised me  not  to  say  to  any  one.  Oh!  do  not  judge 
harshly  of  me,  dear  Walter  and  Beatrice.  I  have 
no  secrets  from  you,  I  am  sure;  you  know  all,  and 
how  far  everything  has  been  settled." 

"  Well,  don't  cry,  Hetty,"  said  Walter ;  "  I  see 
how  it  is.  I  suppose  Mrs.  Melville  disclosed  to 
Laura  what  Claude  had  told  her — as  a  great  secret, 
probably — and  Laura,  as  you  might  fancy,  could 
not  rest  with  a  piece  of  news  to  communicate,  but 
must  needs  write  off  to  New  York  instanter.  Oh ! 


HETTY'S  CONFIDENCE.  257 

what  a  pity  it  is  to  be  such  a  gossip !  But  never 
mind  about  my  mother  hearing  it — the  news  will 
not  spread  any  farther  with  her — and  you  know," 
he  continued,  looking  earnestly  at  Hetty,  "  I  do  not 
think  matters  have  gone  so  far  that  they  cannot  be 
recalled.  I'm  sure  I  hope  not." 

"Oh !  Walter,  how  can  you  ?  I  wish  you  to  arrange 
everything ;  but  we  are  promised  to  each  other  now — 
I  could  never,  never  love  any  one  else.  Why  should 
you  and  Beatrice  dislike  poor  Claude  so  much  ?" 

"  Hetty,  why  should  you  judge  so  wrongly  of 
me?"  said  her  brother-in-law.  "Why  can  you  not 
believe,  my  dear  sister,  that  I  wish  all  for  your  good, 
and  that  I  would  not  say  a  word  against  the  mar- 
riage, if  I  thought  Claude  Melville  worthy  to  be  your 
husband  ?  As  to  the  promise,  it  would  be  better  to 
break  that  now  than  to  take  a  step  you  might  rue 
for  life." 

"  But  he  is  good  now,  Walter,"  said  Hetty,  burst- 
ing afresh  into  tears ;  "  indeed,  indeed  he  is.  You 
don't  know  how  steady  and  persevering  he  means  to 
be.  I  know  he  loves  me  too  well  to  do  anything 
to  annoy  me." 

"  Sister,"  said  Beatrice  earnestly,  "  do  you  really 
think  he  has  Christian  principles  ?  Without  these, 
what  reliance  can  be  placed  on  any  one's  conduct  ? 
Dear  Hetty,  how  can  you  be  happy  together  if  ho 
does  not  love  God  3" 


258  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"But  he  is  not  careless,"  said  Hetty  warmly; 
u  we  have  often  talked  together  on  serious  subjects, 
and  he  seems  to  think  just  as  I  do." 

"Acquiescence  is  not  practice,"  said  Walter, 
gravely ;  "I  only  hope  Claude  may  be  all  you  be- 
lieve him  to  be.  Do  not  think  me  harsh  or  unkind, 
Hetty  ;  I  only  wish  you  to  act  cautiously  ;  you  have 
a  fond,  warm,  loving  heart,  that  leads  you  to  believe 
all  things  to  be  as  you  would  wish  them.  But  it  is 
time  I  went  out ;  I  see  old  Socrates  has  brought  the 
buggy  round,  and  I  have  some  patients  I  ought  to 
visit" — so  saying,  he  rose  from  his  chair  and  kissed 
Hetty  on  the  forehead  as  he  passed  out  of  the  room 

It  was  little  more  than  a  fortnight  after  the  pre- 
ceding conversation,  that  Claude  and  Hetty's  en 
gagement  was  publicly  announced.  It  was  with 
hopeful  yet  half-mistrustful  hearts  that  Walter  and 
Beatrice  gave  their  consent  to  the  marriage.  They 
feared  lest  Hetty  had  decided  too  hastily ;  but  she 
had  decided,  and  they  could  only  hope  for  the  best. 

Hetty's  money,  left  her  by  her  father,  was,  as  we 
have  seen  before,  to  revert  to  her  own  control  in  case 
of  her  marriage.  Beatrice  had  urged  her  to  have  a 
portion  of  it,  at  least,  settled  upon  herself ;  but  she 
refused  to  do  so,  saying  that  it  would  seem  to  be 
doubting  Claude. 

A  very  pretty  farm  had  been  bought  for  them  by 
Mr.  Melville,  only  about  a  mile  distant  from  Oak- 


HETTY'S  MARRIAGE.  259 

wood,  so  that  Beatrice  felt  she  should  still  be  near 
her  sister  to  help  her  in  any  difficulties  and  troubles 
she  might  encounter  on  her  first  commencing  house- 
keeping. A  considerable  portion  of  Hetty's  money 
had  been  laid  out  in  stocking  the  farm,  and  all 
things  certainly  looked  well  and  promising,  and 
with  a  little  patience  and  perseverance  a  comfort- 
able income  might  be  reckoned  upon  from  the  pro- 
duce of  the  land. 

It  was  on  a  calm,  mild  day  in  the  latter  end  of 
October,  that  Claude  Melville  led  his  loving,  trust- 
ing young  bride  to  the  altar. 

How  true  it  is  that  a  wedding-day  is  often  a  very, 
very  sorrowful  one!  Beatrice  felt  very  much  at 
parting  from  her  sister,  for  though  she  would  still 
be  near  her,  her  home  would  be  that  of  another,  and 
their  intercourse  could  not  be  so  unrestrained  as  for- 
merly. 

After  the  wedding,  the  young  couple  passed  some 
time  in  traveling  about,  and  the  cold,  dreary  days 
of  winter  were  fast  approaching  before  they  got  set- 
tled at  Mow  Farm. 

It  was  rather  a  bad  time  of  the  year  for  Claude 
to  make  trial  of  a  quiet  country  life,  but  the  in-door 
amusements  of  reading  and  music,  and  chatting  with 
his  pretty  wife,  together  with  almost  daily  expedi- 
tions either  to  Springfield  or  Oak  wood,  effectually 
oauished  monotony.  When  the  early  bright  days 
22 


260  GKEATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

of  spring  came,  too,  there  was  abundant  scope  for 
his  energies  in  directing  and  superintending  the 
necessary  farming  operations,  the  novelty  of  which 
made  them  attractive  to  him ;  and  he  really  worked 
so  steadily,  and  appeared  so  persevering,  that  Bea- 
trice and  Walter  began  to  hope  they  had  indeed 
judged  too  harshly  of  him. 

The  summer  crept  on  with  its  warm,  sunny  days, 
and  its  out-door  pleasures;  but  with  it  came,  too, 
dark  tidings  of  sickness,  spreading  slowly  but  fear- 
fully through  the  neighborhood.  The  attacks  of  the 
destroying  fever  were  not  confined  to  one  or  two 
families,  but  before  July  came  there  were  few  in 
the  parish  who  had  not  to  mourn  the  loss  of  some 
relative  or  friend.  Walter  Grey  shrunk  not  from 
his  duty  as  a  physician  from  any  fear  of  personal 
exposure,  but  was  day  and  night  unremitting  in 
his  attention  to  the  sick,  uniting,  as  he  always  en- 
deavored to  do,  the  spiritual  aid  of  the  Christian 
with  the  material  aid  of  the  physician. 

Beatrice's  heart  often  misgave  her  on  her  hus- 
band's account,  and  she  secretly  trembled  for  his 
safety,  though  she  was  far  too  noble-minded  even  to 
wish  him  to  neglect  those  placed  under  his  charge 
for  any  selfish  consideration  whatsoever.  The  dis- 
ease had  not  been  taken  by  any  of  her  own  house- 
hold, nor  by  any  one  at  Mow  Farm,  so  that  she  was 
able  to  see  her  sister  very  frequently. 


MBS.  MELVILLE'S  SICKNESS.  261 

One  evening,  after  tea  was  over  at  Oakwood,  Wal- 
ter, tired  with  the  labors  of  the  day,  was  stretched 
on  a  mat  near  the  drawing-room  window,  playing 
with  his  little  ones,  while  Beatrice  sat  near  them 
working,  and  little  Francis  was  lying  near  another 
window,  lost  in  "  Sandford  and  Merton."  Looking 
tip,  "Walter  perceived  Mr.  O'Reilly,  Mr.  Melville's 
steward,  riding  up  to  the  garden  gate.  He  started 
to  his  feet,  for  the  trouble  and  sickness  all  around, 
made  him  nervous  and  anxious. 

This  time  his  fears  were  not  groundless,  Mrs.  Mel- 
ville had  been  taken  suddenly  ill,  with  every  symp- 
tom of  the  dreaded  fever,  and  begged  him,  if  possi- 
ble, to  come  to  her  directly,  which  he  did,  only  just 
stopping  to  tell  Beatrice  what  was  the  matter.  Mrs. 
Melville  was  a  kind,  motherly  woman,  and  one  who 
had  been  very  kind  to  the  Greys  since  they  had 
settled  at  Oakwood,  and  Walter  felt  almost  as  anx- 
ious on  her  account,  as  though  she  had  been  a  near 
relation.  She  was  a  stout,  healthy,  florid  person, 
too,  and  he  had  great  fears  that  it  would  go  hard 
with  her.  During  the  next  two  or  three  days,  she 
indeed  became  alarmingly  ill,  and  Laura  was,  un- 
fortunately, a  most  useless  nurse.  She  had  not  the 
patience  and  quiet  endurance  so  necessary  for  an 
attendant  m  a  sick-chamber;  but  when  she  saw  her 
poor  rnotuer  tossing  in  delirium  or  moaning  with 
pain,  she  would  become  hysterical  and  nervous,  and 
17 


262  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

instead  of  controlling  her  feelings,  she  would  yield 
to  them,  and  claim  for  herself  that  attention  and 
sympathy  which  was  so  much  needed  by  the  suffer- 
ing invalid.  Twice  Laura  walked  over  to  Oakwood, 
and  Beatrice,  from  fear  of  infection,  spoke  to  her 
from  an  open  window  as  she  stood  in  the  garden 
below.  She  could  not  bear,  she  said,  the  restraint 
of  a  sick  room,  it  quite  overcame  her  —  it  was  not 
that  she  did  not  feel — O !  no,  her  feelings  were  only 
too  strong;  she  wished  she  could  be  as  calm  as 
others.  "  Poor  Papa  does  most  of  the  nursing,"  she 
continued ;  "  he  is  so  quiet  and  so  little  excitable, 
and,  of  course,  Mamma  likes  him  to  be  there." 

"But,  dear  Laura,"  said  Beatrice,  "you  surely 
cannot  think  it  right  to  give  way  to  your  feelings  in 
this  manner ;  why  if  every  one  did  so,  we  should 
have  no  one  left  to  nurse  us  when  we  were  sick;  we 
should  all  learn  to  consider  others  before  ourselves. 
Do  you  not  think,  Laura,  that  even  now  your  poor 
Papa  may  be  wanting  your  help ;  there  must  be  a 
thousand  little  things  for  you  to  attend  to  about  the 
house,  at  such  a  time  as  this." 

"Oil  don't  know  anything  about  housekeeping, 
and  old  Rebecca  is  always  in  and  out  of  Mamma's 
room,"  said  Laura,  impatiently ;  "  and  really,  Mrs. 
Grey,  I  felt  obliged  to  run  down  here  and  speak  to 
you  a  bit ;  if  I've  anything  on  my  mind,  it  does  me 
so  much  good  to  tell  it  to  somebody  else." 


MRS.  MELVILLE'S  SICKNESS.  263 

Beatrice  could  scarcely  forbear  smiling  —  this 
craving  for  sympathy  formed  so  essential  a  part  of 
Laura's  character  —  but  she  said,  gently :  "  Do, 
Laura,  there 's  a  dear  girl,  go  back  and  try  and 
content  yourself — think  quietly  and  calmly  what 
you  ought  to  do,  and  forget  yourself  and  your  feel- 
ings, if  you  can  ;  you  will  not  mind  my  saying  this 
to  you,  dear  Laura  I" 

"O!  no,"  said  Laura,  "it's  very  kind  of  you; 
only  you  have  no  idea  how  weak  my  nerves  are ! 
the  sight  of  any  suffering  affects  me  fifty  times  more 
than  it  would  a  cold,  apathetic  sort  of  person." 

"  Granted,  Laura,  perhaps  it  does  —  but  the  path 
of  duty  is  the  same  —  there  may  be  more  obstacles 
to  overcome,  but  the  right  line  of  conduct  is  equally 
clear.  Good-by,  now,  for  I  must  go  back  to  the 
nursery.  I  hear  my  little  Clement  shouting  for 
mamma." 

The  next  day  Walter  despaired  of  Mrs.  Melville's 
life,  and  he  dispatched  a  messenger  to  Mow  Farm, 
to  tell  Claude  that  if  he  wished  to  see  his  mother 
alive,  he  must  come  over  to  Springfield  at  once. 

Although  Claude  had,  from  the  first,  heard  of  his 
mother's  illness,  he  had  never  been  to  see  her  —  self- 
ishly fearing  the  infection,  and  comforting  himself 
with  saying  that  he  felt  she  would  soon  be  better, 
and  that  if  she  was  delirious,  what  was  the  use  of 
his  going.  Hetty  was  surprised  and  grieved  at  her 


264  GEEATNESS  m  LITTLE  THINGS. 

husband's  tmdutiful  conduct,  but  she  could  not  pre 
vail  upon  him  to  change  his  purpose.  His  eldest 
brother,  William,  had  arrived  from  New  York  the 
night  before,  but  up  to  this  time  Mrs.  Melville 
had,  indeed,  been  scarcely  conscious.  This  evening, 
however,  the  man  who  brought  the  pressing  message 
from  Walter,  said  that  he  believed  his  Mistress  was 
sensible — as  is,  indeed,  generally  the  case  in  similar 
complaints  before  the  last  closing  scene. 

Claude  walked  up  and  down  the  room  in  painful 
uncertainty  —  he  did  not -set  off  to  see  his  poor 
mother,  and  yet,  conscience  was  pleading  too  hard 
to  allow  of  his  deciding  to  stay. 

A  cloud  rested  on  his  brow,  and  he  preserved  a 
moody  silence,  which  Hetty  dared  not  break,  though 
she  sat  looking  at  him  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  She 
feared  to  irritate  her  husband,  for  she  had  already 
found  out  what  he  was  when  provoked.  At  last  the 
door  of  the  room  they  were  in  was  softly  openud, 
and  Susan,  the  little  dairymaid,  looked  in,  and 
addressing  Hetty  in  a  sorrowful  voice,  said : 

"  If  you  please,  Ma'am,  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that 
Bessie  Markham,  (her,  you  know,  Ma'am,  as  used 
to  live  as  nurse-girl  with  Mrs.  Grey)  died  this  morn- 
ing of  the  fever.  Oh !  I  feel  so  bad  about  it,"  said 
the  poor  girl,  wiping  her  eyes  ;  "  Bessie  and  me  was 
like  sisters  —  oh!  if  they'd  only  told  me  she  was 
sick,  I  'd  ha'  gone  to  nurse  her.  It  seems  so  hard 


CLAUDE'S  MISCONDUCT.  265 

not  to  have  been  able  to  bid  her  one  last  good-by." 
And  Susan  shut  the  door  gently  as  she  spoke,  for 
she  perceived  that  something  was  troubling  her 
master  and  mistress. 

"One  last  good-by!  One  last  good-by!"  mut- 
tered Claude  to  himself,  and  he  walked  up  and  down 
more  quickly  and  uneasily  than  before ;  at  last  he 
shook  himself,  as  if  throwing  off  some  disagreeable 
burden,  and  said :  "  No,  no,  I  wouldn't  go,  if  it  were 
only  on  your  account,  Hetty." 

"  Oh !  Claude !  Claude !  for  the  love  of  Heaven 
don't  think  of  me — trust  in  God,  and  go  to  your  poor 
mother.  Beside,  if  fear  for  my  safety  keeps  you, 
you  can  do  as  Walter  does  when  he  goes  home — 
change  your  clothes  when  you  come  back." 

Claude  made  no  reply — he  walked  up  and  down 
still — and  at  last  said,  in  an  angry  tone: 

"  No !  I'm  not  good  enough  to  die ;  so  I  tell  you 
I'm  not  going.  Bless  me!  why  I  couldn't  save  her 
life  if  I  did  go.  I  hate  infectious  diseases,  and  I 
have  a  presentiment  that  I  shall  die  if  I  go ;  so  I'm 
not  going,  and  there 's  an  end  of  it." 

Hetty  stole  up  behind  him,  and  locking  both  her 
hands  round  his  arm,  and  looking  up  earnestly  and 
tearfully  into  his  face,  she  said:  "Claude,  dear 
husband,  you  have  always  been  your  mother's 
favorite  son — oh !  if  she  should  ask  for  you  1" 


266          GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"  Get  out  of  the  way,  will  you  !"  said  he,  with  a 
curse,  shaking  her  off  him  with  such  force  as  to 
send  her  nearly  to  the  other  end  of  the  room  ;  '-I'm 
not  going  to  be  plagued  by  you  or  any  one  else,  you 
little  fool.  Don't  you  think  I'm  the  best  judge  of 
iny  own  actions  '?" 

Tears  streamed  from  Hetty's  eyes  ;  she  made  no 
reply,  but  went  up-stairs  to  her  own  room  and  sat 
down,  leaning  her  head  against  the  bed. 

"  Oh  !  I  know,  I  know,"  thought  she,  "  that  it  is 
conscience  that  makes  him  angry  with  me.  Poor 
Claude !  I'm  so  sorry  for  him.  I  know  he  loves  me, 
but  oh !  I  wish  he  would  not  give  way  to  his  temper 
quite  so  much  !"  and  she  looked  at  her  arm  which 
was  slightly  cut  and  bruised  from  being  struck 
against  the  edge  of  a  cabinet  in  the  room  below, 
where  her  husband  so  roughly  repulsed  her.  "  Oh ! 
if  not  for  my  sake  alone,  yet  for  the  sake  of — "  and 
she  sighed  deeply,  for  she  knew  that  she  should 
shortly  become  a  mother,  and  that  this  gave  her  a 
double  claim  on  her  husband's  sympathy  and  care- 
ful love. 

That  evening  Mrs.  Melville  died,  after  having  in 
vain  called  for  her  Claude — her  darling  boy.  Oh  ! 
why  was  he  not  there  ? 

Laura  was  comparatively  calm  and  quiet — for 
Walter  watched  over  her  like  a  brother,  and  per- 


'.MRS.  MELVILLE'S  DEATH.  267 

Buaded  her  to  remain  by  lier  dying  mother's  bed- 
side— and  what  a  consolation  it  was  to  her  after- 
ward to  feel  that  she  had  done  so !  How  bitterly 
Claude's  conscience  reproached  him  could  only  be 
gathered  from  his  gloomy  silence  and  ill-humor. 
He  forbore  all  reference  to  the  subject,  though  he 
seemed  sorry  for  the  way  in  which  he  had  treated 
his  gentle  wife ;  and  she  was  but  too  ready  to 
receive  his  excuses,  and  still  to  trust  implicitly  in 
his  love  and  kindness  toward  her. 
23 


CHAPTER   XII. 

u  A  deep  and  a  mighty  shadow 
Across  my  heart  is  thrown, 
Like  the  cloud  on  a  summer  meadcw, 
Where  the  thunder- wind  hath  blown.' 

BARRY 

"  Wish  not,  dear  friends,  my  pain  away — 

Wish  me  a  wise  and  thankful  heart ; 
With  God  in  all  my  griefs  to  stay — 
Nor  from  his  lov'd  correction  start." — KZBLE. 

ALAS  I  for  Beatrice — the  loving  husband  and  father 
at  Oakwood  was,  erelong,  himself  stretched  on  the 
bed  of  languishing ;  and  although  with  him  the  sick- 
ness was  not  to  quench  the  life-spring,  yet  it  brought 
many,  many  weary  hours  of  anxious  watching.  Bea- 
trice's heart  bled  when  she  saw  the  husband  of  her 
love  tossing  in  pain  and  fever ;  but  strength  was  given 
her  to  trust  all  confidingly  to  a  heavenly  Father's 
love,  knowing  that  all  things  are  in  His  hands. 
Her  sweet  babes  were  dispatched  to  Mow  Farm, 
with  their  nurse,  when  Walter  was  first  taken  ill, — 
for  Beatrice  knew  that  they  would  there  be  away 
from  the  infection,  and  that,  feeling  they  were  safe 


WALTER'S  SICKNESS.  269 

under  Hetty's  care,  she  could  devote  herself  without 
interruption  to  the  care  of  her  sick  husband. 

Little  Francis  could  not  be  persuaded  to  leave 
her,  and  cried  so  bitterly  when  Beatrice  wanted  to 
send  him  with  the  other  children,  that  she  at  last 
allowed  him  to  remain,  only  prohibiting  his  entering 
the  sick  room.  It  was  now  the  gentle  boy's  daily 
delight  to  walk  over  to  the  farm  and  be  the  bearer 
back  of  messages  of  love  and  tidings  for  Beatrice, 
of  the  safety  of  her  little  ones. 

It  was  wonderful  how  so  young  a  boy  could  do  so 
much  or  be  so  useful,  in  a  quiet,  unpretending  way. 
Before  "Walters  illness,  if  the  nurse  were  busy,  or 
went  out,  Francis  could,  at  all  times,  be  trusted  with 
the  charge  of  little  Clement  and  Mary,  playing  with 
them  and  amusing  them  by  the  hour  together — or, 
perhaps,  telling  them  simple  stories — all  sitting 
under  the  shade  of  a  large  tree.  There  was  some- 
thing essentially  unobtrusive  in  Francis'  goodness. 
He  would  do  all  sorts  of  useful  things  about  the 
house  and  garden,  in  such  a  quiet  way,  that  those 
unobservant  would  scarcely  notice  they  were  done. 

These  were  now  his  holidays,  for  it  was  now  the 
month  of  August;  but  he  had,  of  late,  been  tc 
a  school  in  the  town,  as  a  day-boarder ;  and  there 
he  was  a  universal  favorite  both  with  the  master 
and  the  boys. 


270  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

Francis  had  a  noble  soul :  he  applied  himself  to 
learning,  because  he  loved  it,  for  its  own  sake,  and 
because  he  wished  to  please  Walter  and  Beatrice ; 
not  because  he  was  driven  or  forced  into  it — yet 
music  was  the  ruling  passion  of  his  heart.  In  the 
summer  days,  during  school-recess,  there  might 
often  be  seen,  sitting  or  lying  about  in  the  shade 
of  a  large  tree  in  the  playground,  a  group  of  boys 
listening  to  Francis'  sweet,  childish  voice  as  he  sang 
to  them  all  their  favorite  ballads  ;  and  child  though 
he  was,  that  young,  heroic  mind  would  fearlessly 
rebuke  sin,  or  gently  plead  with  tyranny,  and  bold, 
wicked  wrong  among  the  boys.  Beatrice  and  Wal- 
ter rejoiced  in  their  adopted  boy,  and  he  was  indeed 
worthy  of  their  love. 

September  came,  and  Walter  was  rapidly  recov- 
ering his  health.  Beatrice's  little  ones  had  come 
home,  for  there  was  no  danger  now,  and  Claude 
Melville  had  got  a  large  party  of  New  York 
bachelor  friends  down  at  Mow  Farm,  for  the  shooting 
season  ;  so  that  Hetty  could  no  longer  be  burdened 
with  the  charge. 

Beatrice  went  over  two  or  three  times,  to  see  her 
sister,  when  Walter  could  spare  her ;  but  her  visits 
were  not  very  agreeable,  for  she  did  not  at  all  like  the 
appearance  or  manners  of  Claude's  friends.  Even 
Hetty,  gentle  and  uncomplaining  as  she  was,  said 
they  were  too  bold,  and  coarse,  and  noisy  to  sui 


CLAUDE'S  FEIENDS.  271 

her  taste  at  all,  and  that  she  feared  they  were  not 
very  good  companions  for  her  husband.  Beatrice 
forbore  to  press  her,  for  she  knew  how  extremely 
averse  Hetty  was  to  saying  anything  against 
Claude — anything  that  might  in  the  slightest  de- 
gree further  prejudice  her  sister  against  him — and 
Claude  was  still,  in  general,  kind  and  loving  to- 
ward his  wife ;  and  she  treasured  up  his  words  and 
looks  of  love,  as  precious  jewels,  while  she  cast  his 
misdeeds  behind  her  back.  They  could  not,  how- 
ever, afford  to  keep  many  servants  at  Mow  Farm, 
and  the  continual  presence  of  these  gentlemen-visit- 
ors, brought  many  additional  household  cares  upon 
her — which  her  strength  was,  indeed,  unable  to 
bear;  but  she  complained  not;  she  thought  it 
pleased  Claude  to  have  them,  and  she  was  anxious 
that  all  the  domestic  arrangements  should  be  con- 
ducted so  as  to  be  a  credit  to  her  as  his  wife. 

Beatrice,  however,  saw  with  concern  that  she  was 
overtasking  her  strength,  and  one  morning,  when 
she  had  driven  over  to  the  farm,  and  brought  her 
sister  back  to  Oak  wood,  to  spend  a  quiet  hour  with 
herself  and  Walter,  she  said : 

"  Hetty,  dear,  I  think  you  have  too  much  to  do 
now  at  home  ;  you  ought  to  take  care  of  yourself — 
when  are  those  men  going  to  leave  ?" 

"  Oh  1  1  don't  know,"  she  replied,  with  a  gentle 
sigh;  "I  don't  like  to  ask  Claude,  for  he  will 


272  GBEATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

think  that  I  want  to  get  rid  of  his  friends.  I  only 
wish  they  would  not  stop  up  so  late  at  night — I 
think  that  is  what  tires  me  so — " 

"  That  is  a  pity,  dearest,"  said  Beatrice ;  "  how 
do  they  amuse  themselves  ?" 

"  "Why,"  said  Hetty,  half  hesitating,  "  they  have 
wine,  you  know — and  they  sing  songs  and  tell 
stories  ;  and  generally,  about  nine  o'clock,  they 
begin  to  play  cards.  I  usually  go  away  early,  for 
they  sing  queer  sorts  of  things,  sometimes,  that  I 
don't  like  at  all — indeed,  Claude  often  makes  signs 
to  me  to  go  away,  and  then  I  creep  up-stairs  to  bed, 
and  sometimes  I  lie  down  and  read ;  but  I  cannot 
sleep  or  feel  easy  till  Claude  comes  up,  and  the 
house  is  still  and  quiet.  Oh !  we  were  so  much 
happier  before  these  people  came." 

Beatrice  sighed,  but  she  scarcely  knew  what  to 
say  to  comfort  her  sister. 

"  Do  you  see  much  of  Laura,  now,  dear  Bee  ?" 
said  Hetty. 

"Well !  I  have  been  over  there  as  often  as  I  could 
spare  the  time,  lately,"  replied  Beatrice ;  "I  felt  that 
poor  Laura  has  been  greatly  in  need  of  sympathy 
and  kindness  since  her  mother's  death,  with  no 
sister  to  help  her,  or  be  a  companion  to  her.  And 
she  has  been  very  little  used  to  the  cares  of  house- 
keeping ;  poor  Mrs.  Melville  was  so  fond  of  manag- 
ing everything  herself,  that  it  has  spoiled  Laura  for 


KEWS  FROM  PALM  HILL.  273 

taking  her  place,  but  I  believe  she  is  now  really 
trying  in  earnest  to  be  practical." 

"  It  may  be  a  good  thing  for  her,  poor  girl,  to 
have  domestic  duties  to  attend  to,"  said  Hetty,  "  it 
will  make  her  care  less  about  trifling  concerns 
among  the  neighbors.  Laura  is  a  kind-hearted 
creature,  too,  though  she  sometimes  quizzes  a  lit- 
tle." 

"Perhaps  this  has  been  encouraged  in  her,"  said 
Beatrice ;  "I  do  not  think  she  means  unkindly.  O ! 
by-the-by,  dear  Hetty,  I  had  a  letter  from  Madame 
de  Tremonille  this  morning ;  she  says  they  are  all 
well,  and  she  tells  me  a  good  deal  of  news  about  our 
friends  there.  Mary  Gisborne,  you  know,  was  mar- 
ried two  years  ago  to  the  son  of  a  merchant  at  St. 
Thomas.  He  was  ordained  for  a  missionary  life,  a 
short  time  ago,  and  now  he  and  his  wife  are  in  the 
East  Indies,  laboring  in  the  cause  of  Christ.  You 
know  both  the  girls  became  members  of  Mr.  Camp- 
bell's church  a  little  while  after  I  left  Palm  Hill, 
and  they  have  been  a  great  comfort  to  Madame 
de  Tremonille  as  companions.  Caroline  is  still  at 
home,  with  her  father  and  mother;  not  less  useful, 
perhaps,  than  her  sister,  for  Mr.  Gisborne  employs 
a  good  many  negroes  on  his  estate,  and  her  mission 
is  among  them,  attending  to  their  wants  both  spiri- 
tual and  temporal,  and  being  her  parents' right-hand 
helper  in  all  home-duties. 


274  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"Madame  de  Tremonille  says,  that  Blanche  is 
growing  up  a  lovely  girl ;  she  is  fifteen  now,  and  she 
says  she  is  as  tall  as  herself.  Mr.  Campbell  is  still 
as  unweariedly  useful,  and  still  a  bachelor — indeed, 
there  are  sly  hints  thrown  out  in  the  letter,  that 
he  is  waiting  for  Blanche.  I  know,  now,"  said 
Beatrice,  smiling;  "how  this  plan  would  delight 
Isabelle,  for  she  would  then  get  her  darling  child 
settled  near  her ;  however,  time  only  will  show  whe- 
ther her  suspicions  are  correct  with  respect  to  the 
minister's  matrimonial  intentions.  She  does  not 
speak  much  of  herself —  but  I  fear,  from  what  she 
says,  she  is  not  very  strong." 

"I  am  afraid  I  must  go  home  now,  dear  Bee," 
said  Hetty,  "  I  have  a  good  many  things  to  do,  and 
Claude  does  not  like  to  come  home  and  find  me 
out." 

"  Well !  then,  if  you  must  go,  I  '11  drive  you  over, 
Hetty,"  said  Walter. 

That  evening,  after  the  children  were  all  gone  to 
bed,  Walter  mentioned  his  fears  to  his  wife  that 
Claude  was  beginning  to  neglect  the  farm,  and  that 
by  entirely  resigning  its  management  into  the  hands 
of  others,  he  was  getting  cheated  in  every  direction. 

"To  say  the  truth,  dear  Bee,"  he  continued,  "I 
am  feeling  uncomfortable  about  Claude  on  many 
accounts.  When  I  took  Hetty  home,  this  afternoon, 
he  met  us  at  the  door,  and,  early  as  it  was  in  the 


CLAUDE  AND  WALTER. 

day,  he  seemed  scarcely  sober  —  and  he  spoke  so 
harshly  and  crossly  to  his  wife,  because  she  had 
been  out  a  little  while.  Poor  girl !  1  saw  her  color 
change,  and  she  gave  him  a  sort  of  look  of  entreaty 
as  she  went  into  the  house.  I  showed  him,  by  my 
manner,  that  I  was  surprised  at  his  speaking  to 
Hetty  in  that  way,  and  after  a  few  minutes'  further 
conversation,  I  ventured  to  say  to  him,  that  I  feared 
Hetty  was  overtasking  her  strength,  and  that  his 
having  so  many  visitors  in  the  house,  must  cause 
her  a  great  many  additional  domestic  troubles.  He 
looked  rather  sulky  when  I  said  this,  and  replied : 
'Well!  she'll  have  the  house  quiet  enough  soon; 
my  friends  are  going  away  the  day  after  to-morrow, 
and  I  intend  going  with  them  to  New  York,  for  a 
few  days.'" 

" '  Why !  you  surely  wouldn't  think  of  leaving 
your  wife  here  all  alone,  would  you?'  I  said.  'That 
doesn't  seem  kind  ;  and  your  farm,  too,  will  not  get 
along  very  well  with  the  master  out,  particularly 
just  now,  when  all  the  crops  are  coming  in — '" 

"  '  Oh !  bother  it !  don't  talk  to  me,'  he  replied, 
4 1  'm  not  going  to  make  myself  a  slave  to  my  wife 
or  my  farm,  either.  The  crops  will  all  be  got  in  safe 
enough  by  the  men ;  and  Hetty,  I  dare  say,  won't 
miss  me  much  for  a  week  or  so.' " 

"  I  told  him  I  was  sure  she  would  be  far  happier 
if  he  remained  at  home ;  but  he  did  not  seem  to  like 


276  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

to  discuss  the  subject,  so  we  parted.  I  had  hoped, 
dear  Bee,  to  have  induced  him  to  come  here  oftener, 
and  also  to  be  more  sociable  with  his  father  and 
Laura,  for  I  am  sure  the  society  of  his  old  compan- 
ions is  not  likely  to  do  him  any  good." 


It  was  a  few  mornings  after  the  above  conversa- 
tion. Beatrice  was  busy,  making  some  arrange- 
ments in  her  store-closet — her  two  little  ones  being 
out  in  the  garden  with  their  nurse — when  she  heard 
footsteps  in  the  room  behind  her,  and  turning  she 
saw  her  sister  standing  there,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 
Beatrice  threw  her  arms  round  her  neck,  and  kissed 
her,  begging  her  to  tell  her  what  was  the  matter. 

"  O !  he 's  gone !  Claude  is  gone  to  New  York, 
dear  Bee.  I  do  feel  so  lonely  and  unhappy.  He 
might  have  stayed  with  me  a  little  longer !  Those 
horrid  men  coaxed  him  away,  or  I  know  he  wouldn't 
have  gone" — and  Hetty  leaned  her  head  on  Bea- 
trice's shoulder,  and  wept  bitterly.  After  a  time 
she  said : 

41  It  was  only  the  night  before  last,  that  he  first 
mentioned  to  me  that  he  was  goino1  and  I  bested 

O  t55  SO 

and  prayed  him  not  to  leave  me,  (he  never  men- 
tioned my  going  too,  wasn't  that  odd  ?)  and  he 
almost  promised  me  that  he  would  stay  at  home  — 
but  the  next  day,  when  he  began  to  tell  his  friends 


CLAUDE'S  DEPARTURE.  277 

that  ho  thought  he  should  change  his  mind  and  not 
go,  they  laughed  at  him,  and  told  him  he  was  under 
4  petticoat  government' — wasn't  that  a  shame  ? — and 
at  last  they  persuaded  the  poor  fellow  to  go." 

"  I  feel  so  very  sorry  for  you,  dear  Hetty,"  said 
her  sister,  sighing ;  "I  do  indeed  pity  you  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart,  but  you  must  only  bear  up 
against  the  trial  now,  as  well  as  you  can.  You  had 
better  come  over  and  stay  with  us  till  Claude  comes 
back.  Do — you  will  not  feel  so  lonely  then." 

"O,  no!  I  am  afraid  that  would  not  do  at  all, 
dear  Bee^else  you  know  how  much  I  should  like  it. 
The  people  at  the  farm  would  then  have  nobody  at 
all  left  to  look  after  them ;  and  though  I  cannot  do 
much,  yet  it  would  not  be  right  to  leave  the  place, 
quite  to  itself.  I  wish  so  much  that  you  would  let 
Francis  come  home  from  school  for  a  week,  and  stay 
with  me.  I  do  not  think  Claude  can  be  gone  longer 
than  that." 

"Certainly,  dear,  Francis  shall  come.  He  gets 
on  so  well  with  his  lessons,  that  a  week's  holiday 
will  not  put  him  back  much.  He 's  a  dear  fellow, 
and  the  most  companionable  boy  I  ever  saw.  I  am 
glad  you  thought  of  asking  for  him,  Hetty.  If  you 
will  stay  now,  and  spend  this  afternoon  with  me, 
when  Francis  comes  home  from  school  in  the  after- 
noon, I  can  soon  put  up  his  clothes,  and  drive  you 
18 


278  GBEATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

both  back  to  the  farm.    Cheer  up,  dear  Hetty ;  I 
dare  say  Claude  will  soon  be  back." 


But  the  days  wore  slowly  away,  and  Claude  was 
not  *  o  very  soon  back^  either  —  one,  two,  three 
tedious  weeks  elapsed ,  and  he  came  not.  Hetty's 
fond  heart  sank  within  her,  and  she  became  low- 
spirited  and  melancholy.  Since  Claude  had  been 
in  New  York,  he  had  several  times  drawn  large 
sums  of  money  from  the  bank  at  Hartford,  where 
their  little  all  was  deposited ;  and  now  th^se  draw- 
ings increased  alarmingly,  and  there  was  little  pros- 
pect of  sufficient  being  left  for  the  necessary  autumn 
and  spring  farming  operations.  Walter  was  very, 
very  uneasy  on  Hetty's  account.  He  knew  full  well 
that  all  this  profuse  expenditure  could  only  be  ac- 
counted for  by  Claude's  having  taken  to  his  old  habit 
of  gambling,  and  he  at  last  determined  to  write  to 
his  father  in  New  York,  and  beg  him  to  try  and  find 
out  Claude,  and  induce  him,  if  possible,  to  come  home 
immediately.  This  plan  happily  proved  a  successful 
one — for  when  the  aged  minister  repaired  to  the  hotel 
where  Claude  stayed,  and  sought  and  obtained 
a  private  interview  with  him,  he  pleaded  with 
him  so  earnestly,  and  yet  so  gently  and  lovingly 
to  return  to  his  young  wife  and  his  home,  that 


HETTY'S  GBIEF.  279 

Claude,  in  whom  every  kindly  impulse  was  not 
yet  dead,  determined  to  set  off  at  once,  •  without 
daring  to  trust  himself  again  among  his  so-called 
"friends." 

The  meeting  almost  overcame  poor  Hetty.  She 
was  too  glad  to  see  her  husband  again  to  chide  him 
for  his  long  absence ;  and  indeed,  Claude,  though 
at  times  gloomy  and  reserved,  and  even  refraining 
from  hinting  at  the  cause  of  his  protracted  absence, 
yet  seemed,  in  some  measure,  touched  by  Hetty's 
gentle  and  devoted  affection,  and  for  a  time  she  had 
no  cause  of  complaint.  Indeed,  she  was  one  of 
those  happy-minded  people  who  always  make  the 
best  of  everything,  and  seeing  her  husband  at  home 
and  showing  toward  her  something  of  his  former 
attention  and  kindness,  she  thought  not  of  reproach- 
ing him  for  the  past,  or  of  needlessly  anticipating 
trouble  for  the  future. 

It  was  November  when  Claude  came  back,  and 
merry  Christmas  was  soon  with  them — that  season 
of  the  year  which,  of  all  others,  seems  to  shed  joy 
and  gladness  round  the  domestic  hearth.  Santa 
Glaus  was  liberal  in  his  gifts  to  little  Clement,  and 
Mary,  and  Francis ;  and  at  Mow  Farm  ho  brought 
a  precious  little  gift  to  Hetty  and  Claude,  in  the 
form  of  a  sweet  little  blue-eyed  daughter. 

The  acquisition  of  this  little  treasure  seemed,  for 
a  time,  to  melt  Claude's  heart  into  renewed  kind- 


280  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

ness  toward  Hetty ;  but  as  spring  advanced,  farm  - 
affairs  began  to  worry  him — and  this  because  cash 
was  getting  short,  and  he  knew  that  he  had  brought 
all  the  inconvenience  upon  himself,  by  his  losses  at 
the  gambling-table.  When  a  little  had  been  ex- 
pended in  sowing  spring-crops,  there  was  scarcely 
enough  left  to  keep  the  house ;  and  Claude  began 
to  get  into  his  reserved,  gloomy  ways  again — and 
alas  !  what  was  worse  than  all,  he  would  seek  more 
and  more,  to  drown  care  and  thought  in  drink. 
This  sad  habit  seemed  now  to  grow  upon  him,  and 
it  filled  Hetty's  heart  with  dismay.  It  was  in  vain 
that  she  remonstrated,  wept,  and  entreated:  when 
the  demon  of  strong  drink  has  taken  hold  of  a  man, 
it  is  very,  very  difficult  to  shake  off  its  fiendish 
chains.  In  general,  after  any  particular  excess, 
Claude  would  show  some  remorse,  and  promise  to 
reform — but  when  the  temptation  came,  he  fell. 

It  was  one  day  in  the  latter  end  of  April — nature 
was  bursting  all  afresh  into  life,  and  everything  in 
the  outer  world  looked  so  heart-cheering  and  lovely, 
that  it  seemed  more  incongruous  than  ever,  for  man 
to  lie  debased  in  sin  and  misery,  deaf  to  the  sweet 
voices  around  him — and  at  Mow  Farm,  the  valleys 
and  uplands  were  green  with  fresh  spring  verdure : 
snow-white  lambs  were  dotted  over  the  pastures ; 
the  tall  trees  were  gently  opening  their  leaves,  to 
afford  that  shade  which  would  soon  be  so  much 


HETTY'S  GEIEF.        .    •  283 

needed,  and  the  sweet  spring  flowers  were  merrily 
lifting  up  their  heads,  under  every  hedgerow. 

And  yet  in  the  dwelling-house,  happiness  reigned 
not;  for  though  Hetty  was  sitting  in  the  comfort- 
able parlor,  with  her  lovely  babe  on  her  knee,  tears 
were  fast  falling  from  her  eyes,  and  bedewing  its 
rosy  face.  Claude  was  sitting  on  a  chair  near  the 
window,  lazily  rocking  backward  and  forward 
smoking  a  cigar,  and  looking  very  moody  and  cross. 

"  Why,  I  don't  see  what  good  your  going  away 
now  could  possibly  do,  dear  Claude,"  said  his  wife 
gently— 

"Well,  good,  or  no  good,  I  won't  stop  here," 
said  he;  "what's  the  use  of  it?  we've  no  money, 
and  we  can't  live  on  air  till  the  crops  are  ripe — and 
there 's  not  much  of  them  either." 

"  I  dare  say  your  father  would  lend  you  a  little 
money  till  the  fall,  love — and  you  know  we  could 
live  very  economically  and  sparingly — there  is  a 
little  money,  too,  coming  in  every  week,  for  milk, 
and  butter  and  eggs." 

"  Well,  I  'm  not  going  to  borrow  money  of  my 
father,"  said  Claude ;  "  I  hate  to  be  dependent — and 
beside  I  'm  tired  of  this  kind  of  life ;  I  think  New 
York  would  suit  me  better ;  at  anyrate,  I'll  go 
there,  and  see  if  there  is  anything  likely  to  turn  up. 
I  don't  think  farming  is  at  all  in  my  line  after  all — 
it 's  too  monotonous." 


282  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"  I  never  feel  it  monotonous,  dear  Clande,  when 
we  are  together ;  and  then  we  have  so  many  friends 
near  here — " 

"  Pshaw  !  it's  all  very  well  for  a  woman  ;  but  I 
want  more  excitement.  But  don't  you  worry  your- 
self about  me — I'll  be  back  before  long — and  you've 
got  the  baby  to  amuse  you  now,  too — " 

"Oh!  Claude!"  said  Hetty,  and  the  tears  rolled 
afresh  down  her  cheek  as  she  spoke,  "I  know  baby 
is  a  little  darling ;  but  I  know,  I  know  I  shall  be 
unhappy  unless  its  papa  is  with  me  to  love  it.' 

"Nonsense,  Hetty  —  I  see  I  must  train  you  to 
accustom  yourself  to  be  happy  without  me.  I  like 
to  come  and  go  as  I  please.  I  have  a  free  spirit,  and 
freedom  I  will  have."  And  saying  these  words, 
Claude  walked  out  of  the  room  and  banged  the  door 
after  him. 

Oh !  Claude,  Claude !  don't  you  know  that  your 
idea  of  freedom  is  but  the  indulgence  of  gross  self- 
ishness ! 

The  following  day  Claude  started  for  New  York, 
taking  with  him  nearly  all  the  ready  money ;  and 
Hetty  was  once  more  left  alone  at  the  farm. 

Her  own  little  one  increased  daily  in  loveliness 
and  strength,  and  Beatrice's  children  often  came 
over  to  spend  a  day  with  their  aunt  at  the  farm, 
which  was  one  of  their  greatest  treats,  and  a  source 


HETTY'S  GBIEF.  283 

of  unbounded  delight ;  for  though  Oak  wood  was  a 
pretty  place  to  run  about  in,  yet  the  farm  possessed 
unfailing  and  boundless  attraction,  with  its  cattle, 
and  sheep,  and  poultry,  and  beehives,  and  rabbits, 
and  other  delights  too  many  to  enumerate.  When 
playing  with  the  little  ones,  and  going  excursions 
with  Francis  and  Clement  to  favorite  nooks  and 
sequestered  dells,  Hetty  would  almost,  for  a  time, 
forget  her  own  anxieties  and  troubles;  but  Claude's 
continued  absence  lay  heavy  at  her  heart.  Three 
weeks  slipped  away :  she  heard  from  him  once  or 
twice,  but  his  accounts  of  himself  and  his  doings  were 
very  vague.  She  wrote  to  him  herself  frequently, 
and  strove,  by  the  affection  expressed  in  her  letters, 
and  by  the  accounts  she  gave  of  their  pleasant  home, 
and  their  little  Violet's  growing  intelligence,  to  win 
him  to  return.  But  alas!  Claude  was  among  those, 
the  spell  of  whose  presence  was  more  potent  than 
his  wife's  gentle  attractions. 

It  is  true,  that  when  he  received  Hetty's  letters, 
he  would  make  a  resolve  within  himself  to  go  home 
immediately  ;  but  ere  he  had  carried  that  resolution 
into  effect,  he  was  enticed  away  again,  by  some  of 
his  wild  companions,  into  some  gay  scene  of  plea- 
sure or  dissipation,  and  home,  and  those  he  ought 
to  have  loved  so  dearly,  were  forgotten. 

Laura  and  Mrs.  Melville  were  very  kind  to  Hetty 

during  her  husband's  absence,  and  frequently  came 
24 


284  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

over  to  see  her.  The  old  gentleman  placed  a  sum 
of  money  in  his  daughter-in-law's  hands,  saying  that 
it  was  a  present  for  his  little  grandchild.  Hetty 
understood,  and  felt  the  delicacy  of  the  intention— 
and  the  help  came  not  inopportunely,  for  Claude 
had  sent  her  no  means,  and  there  was  no  money  left 
in  the  bank.  Hetty  strove  to  appear  cheerful,  but 
she  drooped  and  drooped,  till  she  became  perfectly 
ill  and  haggard.  She  could  not  but  be  uneasy  about 
Claude.  Old  Mr.  Grey  was  away  from  New  York 
attending  some  meeting  of  the  Presbytery  in  one  of 
the  Western  States,  and  there  was  no  one  to  look 
for  her  husband  and  remonstrate  with  him  as  before. 
One  evening,  however,  when  Walter  and  Beatrice 
had  walked  over  from  Oakwood,  the  former,  seeing 
his  sister-in-law's  unhappiness,  offered  to  go  himself 
to  New  York  and  try  to  bring  Claude  home,  or  at 
least,  to  see  what  he  intended  to  do — for  it  was  im- 
possible to  allow  matters  to  go  on  as  they  were. 

Hetty  thanked  him,  poor  thing  1  with  eagerness 
and  warmth ;  and  he  set  off  the  following  day  with 
many  anxious  prayers  on  the  part  of  the  anxious 
wife,  whose  truant  husband  he  was  in  search  of. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

"  O  !  melancholy,  linger  here  awhile  I 

0  !  music,  music,  breathe  despondingly ! 
0 !  echo,  echo,  from  some  somber  isle 
Unknown,  lethean,  sigh  to  us— O,  sigh  1" — KEATS. 

"  Be  still,  sad  heart !  and  cease  repining, 
Behind  the  clouds  is  the  sun  still  shining  ; 
Thy  fate  is  the  common  fate  of  all, 
Into  each  life  some  rain  must  fall, 

Some  days  must  be  dark  and  dreary." 

LONGPELLOW. 

THE  shades  of  evening  have  fallen  thickly  around 
the  city  of  New  York,  but  in  the  streets  the  gloom 
is  dispelled  by  thousands  of  brilliant  lamps.  Be- 
neath the  light  of  these  lamps,  too,  thousands  are 
hurrying  along  —  all  bent,  more  or  less  eagerly,  on 
some  purpose,  good  or  bad. 

If  we  turn  aside  from  this  bustling  throng,  and 
go  up  that  flight  of  steps  on  the  left-hand  side  of 
that  small  alley,  we  shall  come  to  a  room,  the  en- 
trance to  which  is  a  green  baize  door,  studded  with 
brass  nails.  Entering  this  room,  we  hear  the  voices 
of  men  in  angry  altercation.  Let  us  not  turn  aside 

disgusted,  as  we  well  might  be,  for  among  those 

(285) 


286  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

voices,  methinks  there  are  some  that  strike  familiarb 
on  the  ear.     Let  us  look  in. 


"How  dare  you  interfere,  sir!"  shouted  a  man. 
in  a  loud,  angry  tone  of  voice,  as  he  leaned  across  the 
table  where  he  and  another  man  had  been  playing 
some  game  of  chance.  "  I  say  again,  sir,  who  asked 
you  to  come  and  interfere  with  our  game  ?" 

The  person  whom  he  addressed,  was  a  tall,  gentle- 
manly, and  very  prepossessing-looking  young  man. 
whose  quiet  demeanor  and  gentlemanly  bearing, 
seemed  to  bespeak  him  no  frequenter  of  such  haunts 
as  that  we  see  him  in  at  present.  This  was,  as  our 
readers  may  guess,  Walter  Grey,  who  now  stood  with 
his  hand  on  Claude  Melville's  shoulder,  earnestly 
and  affectionately  entreating  him  to  leave  off  play- 
ing, and  come  home  with  him  to  old  Mr.  Grey's 
house  in street. 

Claude  was  flushed  and  excited  with  play,  for  he 
had,  this  evening,  happened  to  win  a  considerable 
sum  of  money  from  his  opponent  —  and  it  was  the 
latter  who  was  now  angrily  addressing  Walter,  en- 
raged at  the  game  being  interfered  with,  particu- 
larly at  the  present  crisis,  when  the  luck  was  against 
him. 

'•You're  a  mean  fellow,  Melville,  to  leave  off 
playing  just  now,  after  you  've  been  winning  from 


THE  GAMBLING  SALOON.  287 

me ;  at  least,  give  me  a  chance  of  winning  it  back 
again.  Come  on !" 

Claude  hesitated,  but  "Walter  turned  to  the 
speaker,  and  said: 

"  You  need  not  mind  about  the  money,  sir,  I 
know  Mr.  Melville  will  not  think  of  insisting  on  its 
being  paid,  if  you  do  not  think  it  fair ;  but  he  is 
obliged  to  leave  here  now,  his  presence  being  posi- 
tively required  elsewhere." 

"Well!  then,  we'll  cry  quits,  Downing,"  said 
Claude,  who  stood  by  half  angry,  and  half  ashamed  ; 
but  yet,  for  the  time,  so  much  under  Walter's  influ- 
ence as  to  rely  upon  him  for  assistance  and  advice. 

"Indeed,  I'll  do  no  such  thing!"  said  the  other 
man,  angrily ;  "  fair  play's  fair  play.  Come  on  now, 
and  let's  have  it  out  —  O!  you  won't,  won't  you!" 
said  he,  in  tones  of  increasing  anger,  as  he  saw 
Walter  take  Claude's  arm  to  lead  him  away;  "then, 
I  can  tell  you,  that  I  think  you  're  a  couple  of  mean 
sneaks,  and  that  it's  all  a  plot,  your  going  away 
at  all.  Take  that  for  your  pains  !"  and  firing  a 
revolver  as  he  spoke,  the  report  of  the  piece  sounded 
through  the  gambling-saloon. 

Walter  fell  forward,  though  the  shot  had  been 
intended  for  Claude. 

The  ball  had  entered  below  the  right  shoulder 
and  passed  out  between  the  ribs.  Claude  gave  a 
cry  of  horror  and  agony,  and  threw  himself  on  his 


288  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS 

knees  by  his  brother-in-law,  deadly  pale.  A  crowd 
soon  collected  round  them,  and  the  wounded  man 
was  gently  carried  on  a  litter  to  his  father's  house. 

Claude  saw  him  to  the  door,  and  then  ran  as 
quickly  as  possible  for  a  surgeon,  whom  he  dis- 
patched to  attend  on  the  patient,  and  then  slunk 
away  himself,  ashamed  to  be  seen  by  any  one  he 
knew,  for  he  felt  that  he  had,  though  inadvertently, 
it  is  true,  been  the  cause  of  the  accident.  As  we 
have  before  said,  old  Mr.  Grey  was  from  home. 
The  agonizing  terror  and  fear  of  his  poor  wife,  when 
she  saw  her  only  son  brought  to  her  door,  late  at 
night,  desperately  wounded,  and  escorted  only  by  a 
low  mob,  may  better  be  imagined  than  described. 
She  knew,  however,  that  Walter  had  been  in  search 
of  Claude  Melville,  and  she  intuitively  suspected 
that  the  accident  had  some  connection  with  him. 

From  the  men  who  carried  him,  however,  she 
could  learn  nothing  but  a  very  confused  account; 
and  indeed  there  was  not  much  time  for  delay — the 
care  of  the  sufferer  claiming  her  attention  too  en- 
tirely to  admit  of  further  inquiry. 

"Walter  had  swooned  as  they  were  bringing  him 
along  the  street,  and  it  was  not  till  after  he  had  been 
laid  on  his  mother's  bed,  and  the  surgeon  had 
arrived,  that  he  recovered  his  consciousness. 

The  surgeon  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  there  was 
no  immediate  danger  to  be  apprehended  from  the 


WALTER'S  WOUND.  289 

wound,  but  old  Mrs.  Grey  resolved  on  instantly 
dispatching  a  messenger  for  Beatrice,  telling  her 
that  her  husband  had  tnet  with  an  accident,  but  that 
she  must  not  frighten  herself  unnecessarily,  for  that 
indeed  there  seemed  no  cause  for  alarm.  No  men- 
tion was  made  of  Claude  Melville  in  the  note,  for 
of  him  Mrs.  Grey  knew  nothing. 

When  did  a  loving  wife,  in  spite  of  all  warnings 
to  the  contrary,  ever  receive  tidings  of  an  accident 
having  happened  to  a  beloved  husband,  without 
magnifying  the  danger  to  the  utmost  in  her  own 
mind,  and  without  being  ready  to  believe  the  worst 
from  the  earliest  moment  ?  Beatrice  nearly  fainted 
when  she  first  received  the  note.  She  fancied  she 
should  never  again  see  Walter  alive,  but  grief  de- 
prived her  not  of  the  power  of  action,  and  with  a 
death-like  pallor  on  her  countenance,  she  moved 
around  the  house  to  give  the  necessary  orders  pre- 
vious to  her  departure  for  New  York. 

She  at  first  concluded  not  to  let  Hetty  know  what 
she  had  heard,  but  considering,  afterward,  that  her 
sister  would  be  sure  to  find  out  she  was  from  home, 
she  dispatched  Francis  to  the  farm  with  a  note, 
stating  what  she  had  heard  from  her  mother-in-law, 
and  begging  Hetty  to  come  over  to  Oakwood  as 
often  as  she  could,  so  as  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  child- 
ren and  household. 

When  Beatrice  arrived  in  New  York,  Walter  was 


290  QEEATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

already  considerably  better;  and  although  yet  ex- 
ceedingly weak,  it  was  not  many  days  before  he  was 
able  to  be  moved,  by  easy  stages,  to  his  own  home. 
Of  Claude,  however,  alas !  no  news  could  be  gained 
before  they  left,  and  Beatrice,  unhappy  though  she 
was  about  her  own  husband,  was  not  unmindful  of 
her  sister's  trouble,  and  really  dreaded  meeting  her 
on  their  return,  without  having  some  tidings  to 
communicate  respecting  Claude. 

O !  with  what  a  death-like,  agonized  expression 
of  countenance  did  poor  Hetty  receive  her  sister  and 
"Walter,  as  she  stood  in  the  hall  at  Oakwood  await- 
ing their  arrival.  Too  much  overcome  to  speak, 
or  even  to  weep,  she  stood  clasping  her  baby  in  her 
arms,  with  her  lips  parted,  as  if  in  mute  suppli- 
cation, and  yet  not  daring  to  venture  an  inquiry. 
She  remained  thus,  intently  gazing,  while  Socrates 
and  another  servant  lifted  Walter  from  the  carriage 
and  bore  him  gently  up-stairs.  She  could  only  press 
Beatrice's  hand,  and  say,  in  an  agonized  whisper : 

"O!  Bee,  Bee,  do  tell  me,  for  mercy's  sake, 
where  Claude  is  I  O !  my  husband,  my  husband." 

"  I  know  not,  dear  Hetty,  I  know  not — would  to 
God  I  did,"  was  her  sisters  reply. 

"  Once  more,  dear  Bee,  only  tell  me  Tie  diJ.  not 
do  this  ;  only  tell  me  he  did  not !" 

"  No,  indeed,  dear  Hetty,  Walter  says  this  was 
an  accident,"  said  Beatrice ;  "  do  not,  dear  sister, 


WALTER'S  WOUND.  291 

distress  yourself  thus.  Walter  is  thought  to  be  ont 
of  danger,  and  I  dare  say  Claude  will  soon  be 
home,  for  Walter  saw  him,  and  told  him  how  anx- 
ious you  were  for  his  coming." 

Hetty  sank  down  on  a  chair.  She  breathed  more 
freely,  and  refreshing  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 

"  Do  not  delay  here,  dear  Bee,  I  am  better  now, 
thank  God ;  but  oh !  to  think  that  I  should  have 
been  the  cause  of  Walter's  going.  Yet  I  am  so 
thankful  to  learn  that  it  was  not  Claude  who  hurt 
him.  O !  I  long  to  hear  all  about  it  from  him,  when 
he  is  strong  enough  to  tell  me." 

Beatrice  again  kissed  her  sister,  and  then  ran  up- 
stairs to  her  sick  husband,  who,  indeed,  now  claimed 
all  her  care  and  attention. 

Poor  Hetty  felt  that  she  could  delay  no  longer  at 
Oakwood,  for  might  not  Claude  return  at  any 
moment  ? 

As  she  went  along,  under  the  green  hedgerows 
and  through  the  meadows,  toward  the  farm,  the 
summer  air  blew  sweetly  and  pleasantly  upon  her, 
and  her  little  Violet  was  smiling  and  cooing  in 
her  arms:  but  what  a  heavy  heart  had  that  young 
mother!  what  would  she  not  have  given  to  know 
where  her  husband  was?  Why  was  he  not  with 
her  to  enjoy  this  pleasant  summer's  eve  ? — oh,  why ! 

She  thought  the  rooms  at  home  looked  even  more 
desolate  than  usual,  that  evening ;  and  she  felt 
25 


2'J3  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

quite  oppressed  with  a  sense  of  utter  loneliness. 
How  many  things  about  the  homestead  looked  as  if 
they  wanted  setting  in  order — and  she  had  no 
money  to  pay  for  the  necessary  labor.  The  two  or 
three  farm-servants  who  had  been  kept  on,  answered 
her,  she  thought,  less  respectfully  than  usual  now, 
and  she  fancied  it  was  because  they  knew  she  was 
poor.  Having  undressed  her  little  one,  and  put 
her  to  sleep,  for  she  had  been  obliged  to  dismiss  her 
nurse,  (the  wages  being  an  expense  she  was  quite 
unable  to  meet)  she  fetched  a  candle  and  sat  down 
in  her  room  by  little  Violet's  cot,  and  opened  her 
Bible  to  read.  The  first  words  which  met  her  eyes 
were  these :  "  Thou  art  our  refuge  and  strength,  a 
very  present  help  in  time  of  trouble"  Oh !  sweet 
and  blessed  promise  for  the  afflicted !  Tears  came 
into  Hetty's  eyes  as  she  read  them,  and  kneeling 
down,  she  prayed,  oh  !  how  earnestly,  that  the  Lord 
would  indeed  be  her  help  in  this  her  trouble,  and 
grant  that  she  might  receive  some  tidings  of  him 
whom  she  still  loved  so  fondly. 

Scarcely  had  she  risen  from  her  knees,  when  she 
heard  horse's  hoofs  rattling  up  the  road  to  the 
house.  Is  it  ?  can  it  be  Claude !  thought  she ;  and 
as  the  idea  thrilled  through  her,  it  almost  deprived 
her  of  the  power  of  action — she  was  so  afraid  lest 
it  might  not  indeed  be  he. 


CLAUDE'S  KETURN.  293 

Another  minute,  and  there  was  a  quick  knock  at 
the  door.  She  rushed  down  the  stairs,  for  she 
would  not  that  any  one  else  should  be  the  first  to 
receive  him,  if  it  were  indeed  Claude. 

In  another  moment,  she  was  in  her  husband's 
arms. 

"Oh!  Claude,  Claude!  how  could  you  stay  from 
me  so  long?  Thank  God  you're  come  at  last!" 
was  all  she  could  utter. 

"  Oh  wife ! — oh  Hetty  ! — I'm  a  miserable  man  ; 
I  don't  deserve  to  be  welcomed  in  this  man- 
ner—" 

Another  kiss  was  his  wife's  only  reply,  and  then 
taking  him  by  the  hand,  she  led  him  gently  up- 
stairs, to  the  room  where  their  sleeping  infant  lay. 

Claude  stooped  down  and  kissed  little  Violet,  and 
a  shade  passed  over  his  countenance,  and  his  con- 
science twinged  sharply  as  he  did  so,  for  he  felt 
what  an  attraction  home  ought  to  have  been  to  him. 

Hetty  now  lit  another  candle,  and  then  only  did 
she  observe  how  very  miserable  her  husband's  ap- 
pearance was. 

He  looked  haggard  and  thin,  and  his  hand  shook 
from  the  effects  of  the  intemperate  life  he  had  been 
leading.  He  looked  ten  years  older  than  when  she 
saw  him  last! 

Turning  now  to  his  wife,  and  looking  her  earn- 
estly in  the  face,  Claude  said : 
19 


294  GBEATXESS  IN  LITTLE  THTXGS. 

if 

"Hetty,  if  you've  any  pity  for  me,  only  tell  me 
good  news  of  Walter.  What  of  him  ?  Is  he  alive 
jet  ? — for  God's  sake  don't  tell  me  he's  not !" 

"  He  is !  he  is !  dear  Claude  ;  Beatrice  says  he  is 
much  better:  he  came  down  from  New  York  to 
Oak  wood,  this  afternoon — and  surely  if  he  had  been 
so  very  ill,  he  could  not  have  been  moved." 

"  I  did  not  do  it,  Hetty— I  did  not  do  it,"  said 
Claude,  in  a  tone  of  misery,  as  he  sat  down  on  a 
chair,  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  ;  "God 
knows  I  wouldn't  have  injured  a  hair  of  his  head ! — 
it  was  that  rascal  Downing."  Oh !  that  I  had  never 
met  him  !  "I  shall  never  be  able  to  look  Beatrice 
in  the  face  again — she  will  think  all  was  my  fault — " 

"  O !  indeed,  indeed,  Claude !  you  do  my  sister 
injustice.  I  am  sure  she  is  the  very  last  person  to 
harbor  you  any  ill-will;  so  pray  do  not  think 
that!" 

*'  O !  what  an  unhappy  brute  I  am !"  groaned 
Claude,  "I  wish  I'd  never  left  home.  You  don't 
know  what  I've  suffered  during  the  last  two  or 
three  days,  thinking  that  Walter  might  be  dead!  I 
have  been  an  infatuated,  foolish  wretch  !" 
*  "Dear  husband,  you  are  at  home  now  —  let  us 
forget  the  past.  I  am  sure  I  will  never  reproach 
you  with  it — and  they  all — your  father,  and  Laura, 
and  Walter,  too,  will  be  so  glad  to  hear  you  are 
come!" 


CLAUDE'S  RETURN.  295 

"Well!  then,  I'm  determined  they  shan't  know 
it  yet,"  said  Claude,  almost  fiercely;  "1  am  not  in 
the  humor  to  brook  reproaches  from  any  one  —  my 
own  are  as  much  as  I  can  bear !  Don't  you  say  a 
word  about  my  being  here  till  I  tell  you.  I  'm  not 
well,  and  I  want  to  stop  quietly  with  you  ;  and  I  'm 
not  going  to  be  plagued  with  visits  from  any  one." 

"  My  poor,  poor  Claude !"  said  Hetty,  and  lean- 
ing over  her  husband,  from  behind  his  chair,  she 
laid  her  hand  on  his  head  and  kissed  his  forehead — 
a  tear  falling  from  her  eye  and  dropping  on  to  his 
cheek  as  she  did  so.  * 

Claude  started—"  Hetty,  don't  cry !  I  can't  bear 
it — indeed  I  can't!  I'm  not  good  enough  to  be 
loved  by  you  !  I  feel  I  am  not!" 

"Claude,  love!  do  not  talk  so  —  nothing  can 
change  my  love — you  are  always  my  own  dear  hus- 
band I" 

"  God  forgive  me,  wife,  for  all  my  unkindness 
toward  you — oh !  how  undeserved  has  it  been  1" 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

"  At  every  motion  of  our  breath, 
life  trembles  on  the  brink  of  death ; 
A  toper's  flame,  that  upward  turns, 
While  downward  to  the  dust  it  burns." 

MONTGOMERY. 
41  Affliction  then  is  ours, 

We  are  the  trees  whom  shaking  fastens  more ; 
While  blust'ring  winds  destroy  the  wanton  bowers, 
And  ruffle  all  their  curious  knots  and  store. 
My  God  1  so  temper  joy  and  woe, 
That  thy  bright  beams  may  tame  thy  bow." 

GEORGE  HZBBEET. 

IT  was  with  a  comparatively  light  heart,  that 
Hetty  descended  the  staircase  the  following  morn- 
ing, leaving  Claude,  wearied  with  want  of  rest, 
lying  fast  asleep.  Happy  she  could  not  exactly  be, 
for  he  looked  both  ill  and  wretched,  and  she  was 
anxious,  too,  about  Walter ;  but  yet,  thankfulness  for 
her  husband's  return,  was  her  predominant  feeling, 
and  with  her  usual  sanguineness  of  disposition,  the 
hope  of  bright  future  days  flitted  through  her  mind. 

It  was  not  very  early — much  later,  indeed,  than 
her  usual  hour  of  rising ;  but  Claude  looked  so  worn 
out,  that  she  had  feared  disturbing  him  earlier 

(296) 


MRS.  GRANT.  297 

Having  now  dressed  little  Yiolet  in  another  room, 
she  came  softly  down  stairs,  and  depositing  her  little 
charge  on  a  large,  soft  mat  in  the  breakfast-room, 
she  began  to  arrange  cups  and  saucers,  and  make 
other  preparations  for  the  morning  meal. 

While  she  was  thus  engaged,  Susan,  the  dairy- 
maid, came  into  the  room  and  said :  "  If  you  please, 
Ma'am,  Mrs.  Grey's  cook  was  over  this  morning 
afore  seven  o'clock  for  them  three  pounds  of  butter 
we  promised  her.  She  said  she  heard  that  Mr. 
Grey  was  mighty  weak  to-day  ;  that  he  hadn't  slept 
very  well  last  night.  I  told  her  as  how  Mr.  Melville 
came  home  last  night,  tho'  I  didn't  know  that 
myself  till  this  morning,  when  old  Dennis  told  me 
that  Mr.  Melville  left  the  horse  with  him  at  the 
stable." 

It 's  of  no  use  Claude's  thinking  to  hide  his  hav- 
ing come  home  then,  thought  Hetty ;  I  hope  he  will 
not  be  angry,  at  anyrate  it  cannot  be  helped. 

It  was  about  noon  the  same  day — the  first  day  of 
Claude's  return  —  when  two  figures,  those  of  an 
elderly  lady  and  a  little  boy,  were  seen  approaching 
the  farm. 

Hetty  was  standing  at  the  window  with  Claude, 
when  she  suddenly  exclaimed : 

"  Why,  Claude,  that  looks  very  much  like  Aunt 
Louisa  coming  up  the  hill  with  little  Clement  1  why 
where  can  she  have  sprung  from  ?" 


298  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"Wherever  it  may  be,  I  shan't  stay  to  encounter 
her,"  said  Claude;  "make  any  excuse  you  like  for 
me,  Hetty.  A  lecture  from  her  is  what  I  never 
could  stand  in  my  best  days."  So  saying,  he  went 
quickly  up-stairs,  and  locked  himself  into  his  room. 

It  was  indeed  Mrs.  Grant,  who  had  arrived  from 
New  York  only  that  morning.  She  had  heard  of 
Walter's  accident  from  his  mother,  and  she  had  im- 
mediately set  off  for  Oak  wood,  to  see  if  she  could 
be  of  any  service  to  Beatrice  in  the  nursing  line. 

Though  still  occasionally  somewhat  caustic  and 
Bevere,  time  had  blunted  some  of  the  sharp  edges 
in  her  character,  and  she  could  really  be  a  most 
useful  person  when  she  chose.  She  had  taken  a 
great  fancy  to  Beatrice's  little  ones,  who,  she  said, 
were  almost  the  only  well  brought  up  children  she 
knew ;  so  that  now  her  appearance  at  Oakwood  was 
hailed  by  Beatrice  with  pleasure,  for  she  knew  that 
Aunt  Louisa  might  safely  be  intrusted  with  nursery 
cares,  and  Walter  was  now  so  ill  as  to  claim  all  her 
own  time  and  attention. 

The  tidings  of  Claude's  arrival,  conveyed  to  Oak- 
wood  by  the  cook  that  morning,  had  filled  both  Bea- 
trice and  her  husband  with  thankfulness,  and  Aunt 
Louisa  had  not  been  long  in  the  house  before  Bea- 
trice begged  her  to  go  over  to  the  farm,  and  bring 
some  tidings  both  of  Claude  and  Hetty. 

"  Well,  Hetty,  love,  so  you  see  I  Jve  come  down  to 


MKS.  GKANT.  299 

take  care  of  you  all,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Grant,  as  she  en- 
tered the  room.  "  Such  doings  !  dear  me,  dear  me !" 

"  I  am  sure  dear  Bee  must  be  very  glad  to  see 
you,  Aunt,"  said  Hetty,  kissing  her  affectionately  ; 
"poor  thing!  this  is  indeed  a  trial  for  her.  Cle- 
ment, love,  come  and  kiss  Aunt  Hetty  !  There,  sit 
on  my  knee ;  there  's  room  for  you  now,  for  little 
Violet  is  fast  asleep." 

"  Where  's  uncle  Claude,  Aunty  ?  Mamma  said 
he  was  come  home !  You  won't  be  unhappy  any 
more  now,  will  you  ?" 

Hetty  kissed  the  little  fellow's  rosy  cheek,  and 
said,  in  a  hesitating  voice,  (for  she  felt  that  her 
aunt's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her) : 

"  Uncle  Claude  is  not  very  well  to-day,  Clemmy  ; 
he  is  up-stairs,  but  you  shall  see  him  another  time. 
Suppose  you  go  out  and  feed  the  rabbits  ?  you  may 
if  you  like ;  and  ask  Susan  to  gather  you  some  let- 
tuce—  I  think  she  is  in  the  kitchen." 

"Do  tell  me  what  you  think  of  Walter,  Aunt?"  said 
Hetty,  when  Clement  had  left  the  room ;  "  we  did 
oot  hear  a  very  good  account  of  him  this  morning  I" 

"  Well,  it's  my  opinion  that  he  won't  be  well  for 
a  long  time,"  said  Mrs.  Grant,  shortly ;  "no  wonder, 
poor  fellow !  with  that  wound  it 's  a  mercy  his  life 
was  spared." 

"  It  is  indeed,  Aunt,  we  have  all  great  cause  foi 
thankfulness,"  said  Hetty,  gently. 


300  GllEATNESS   IN   LlTTLE 

'Tray,  why  does  your  husband  shut  himself  up, 
and  not  come  down  to  see  me  ?  I  came  over  hero 
on  purpose  to  see  how  you  hoth  were,  and  it  will 
Beem  very  queer,  when  I  go  back,  to  say  that  I  have 
not  seen  Claude." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  must  excuse  him,  Aunt.  I  am 
very  sorry ;  poor  fellow  1  he  has  been  greatly  cut  up 
about  that  affair  of  poor  dear  "Walter's  getting 
hurt." 

"Poor  fellow ,  indeed  i  I  'm  sure  I  don't  pity 
him ;  what  business  had  he  to  be  away  at  all  ?  The 
way  he's  been  going  on  lately,  I  'm  sure,  he  deserves 
to  be  worried,  and  well  punished  too." 

"Please,  please,  Aunt,  don't  speak  in  that  way," 
said  Hetty,  in  a  tone  of  distress  ;  "we  cannot  recall 
the  past,  and  I  cannot  bear  to  hear  any  one  talk 
against  him.  I  feel  too  glad  to  have  him  safe  home 
again." 

"Ah!  indeed!"  said  her  aunt,  shaking  her  head, 
"  little  comfort  he 's  been  to  you.  He  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  himself,  that 's  what  I  know.  But  you 
knew  what  he  was  before  you  married  him,  child, 
BO  you  've  brought  it  on  yourself." 

"  Aunt  Louisa !"  said  Hetty,  and  she  colored 
with  anger  as  she  spoke,  "  I  must  request  of  you  not 
to  speak  in  that  way.  I  won't  listen  to  it !  What- 
ever Claude  may  have  been,  ur  whatever  he  has 
done,  he  is  my  husband,  whom  I  dearly  love ;  and 


LITTLE  VIOLET.  SOI 

I  will  suffer  no  one  to  abuse  him  before  my  face ; 
"  und  she  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  walked  over  to  the 
cot  to  take  up  her  baby,  who  was  now  awake  " 

"  Well,  well,  child !  come,  don't  be  offended.  I 
only  told  you  what  I  thought ;  and  if  you  don't  like 
to  hear  it,  why  we  '11  change  the  subject :  here  at 
least,  is  something  we  can  agree  about,"  and  Mrs. 
Grant  held  out  her  arms  for  little  Yiolet  to  come  to 
her.  "  What  a  lovely  baby ;  why  it 's  not  much 
like  you,  Hetty  ;  it 's  more  like  what  Beatrice  was 
when  a  child :  like  your  mother  indeed  :  yes,  she's 
the  image  of  your  poor  mother — the  same  soft  gray- 
blue  eyes — " 

"  I  'm  so  glad  of  that,"  said  Hetty  ;  "  and  I  should 
wish  her  to  be  as  like  dear  Bee  as  possible  ;  I  only 
hope  she  may  be  as  good.  She  is  a  little  darling 
now,  and  a  great  amusement  to  me — " 

"By-the-by,  my  dear,"  said  her  aunt,  "I  hear 
Laura  Melville  is  going  to  be  married ;  to  whom 
is  it?" 

"  To  a  friend  of  her  brother  William's,"  replied 
Hetty;  "another  New  York  barrister — a  Mr. 
Herbert.  I  met  him  at  Springfield  once  or  twice, 
last  year,  and  again  about  three  months  ago ;  he 
seemed  a  gentlemanly,  well-informed  man,  but  I 
nave  not  seen  much  of  him.  Indeed,  what  I  have 
heard  about  him,  has  been  principally  from  Laura, 
who  often  comes  over  here  to  sit  with  me  in  the 


302  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

morning,  when  her  father  is  busy  in  his  library  or 
overlooking  the  estate — " 

"  How  do  Laura  and  her  father  get  on  together, 
now  ?" 

"  Oh !  very  well  indeed ;  she  has  become  his 
constant  companion  since  her  poor  mother's  death, 
and  it  seems  her  principal  aim  to  make  him  happy, 
and  to  endeavor  to  compensate,  as  much  as  possible, 
for  the  great  loss  he  has  sustained.  He  will  miss 
her  sadly,  poor  man  :  I  really  can  hardly  think  what 
he  will  do  without  her,  when  she  is  married. 
Laura  is  not  comfortable  about  it  herself,  and  the 
wedding  has,  in  consequence,  been  indefinitely 
postponed,  till  some  plan  can  be  decided  upon. 
Old  Mrs.  Grey,  (Walter's  mother,  you  know),  is  a 
relation  of  theirs ;  and  she  has  a  widowed  sister, 
who  will  probably  stay  with  him  part  of  the  time  ; 
but,  I  believe,  nothing  is  settled  yet.  Let  me  take 
baby,  Aunt ;  she  is  too  heavy  for  you." 

"  Not  at  all,  my  dear ;  but  let  us  go  into  the 
garden,  and  look  for  Clement;  I  must  be  going 
back  to  Oakwood,  for  Beatrice  may  want  me. 
How  ever  are  you  going  to  manage  about  this  farm, 
Hetty  ?"  continued  Mrs.  Grant,  as  they  went  down 
the  path  leading  to  the  rabbit-hutches  ;  "why  it 
looks  shamefully  neglected,  and  the  garden  is  one 
mass  of  weeds  1" 

Hetty  winced,  but  replied : 


A  FBIEND  m  NEED.  303 

"  I  cannot  tell,  indeed,  Aunt ;  I  hope  everything 
will  be  set  to  rights,  now  Claude  is  come — " 

"Tut!  set  to  rights,  indeed,"  muttered  Mrs. 
Grant ;  "  they  ought  never  to  have  got  in  this  state 
Well,  well,  my  dear,  I  know  the  state  of  things,  as 
well  as  you  can  tell  me.  Look  here  now,  Hetty,  I 
thought  this  hundred  dollars  might  be  useful  to  you 
just  now,  so  I  brought  it  as  a  little  present  from 
me,  if  you  will  accept  it.  Come  now,  you  must 
not  refuse  me.  Of  what  nse  is  it  to  an  old  woman 
like  me!  Beside,  my  dear,  if  you  began  asking 
for  money  just  now,  for  household  necessaries,  who 
knows  but  what  that — that — but  that  Claude  might 
be  off  to  New  York  again." 

"  Aunt  Louisa,"  said  Hetty,  as  she  threw  her 
arms  round  her  neck,  and  kissed  her  warmly,  "  this 
is  indeed,  kind  and  thoughtful  of  you.  I  shall 
make  no  scruples  of  false  delicacy  in  accepting  it. 
God  bless  you,  Aunt — '  a  friend  in  need  is  a  friend 
indeed.' " 

It  was  not  that  Walter  Grey  was  very  ill — no, 
not  very  ill ;  that  is  to  say,  there  were  no  symptoms 
which  might  cause  alarm,  even  in  the  breast  of  an 
anxious  wife ;  but  it  was  long,  very  long,  before  he 
regained  his  health  and  strength,  and  many  weeks 
elapsed  before  the  happy  evening  when,  he  was 


304  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

able  to  walk  round  the  garden,  leaning  on  Beatrice's 
arm,  with  his  children  running  around  him  in  merry 
glee,  delighted  at  seeing  dear  Papa  out  again. 

As  the  hot  sun,  however,  abated  somewhat  of  the 
intensity  of  its  rays,  and  the  pleasant  soft  days  of 
autumn  began  to  appear,  his  strength  came  back, 
slowly  but  surely,  although  it  was  long  before  he  was 
otherwise  than  an  invalid. 

During  Walter's  illness,  another  doctor  had  settled 
in  Mill  Town,  and  although,  even  now,  there  were 
some  among  his  old  patients,  who  came  to  Oakwood 
occasionally  to  consult  him,  yet  it  was  impossible 
that  his  old  practice  could  be  kept  up.  He  and 
Beatrice  were  not  poor,  for  his  profession  had 
hitherto  been  quite  sufficient  for  the  support  of  the 
family ;  and,  with  the  exception  of  a  small  sum  ex- 
pended on  their  first  commencing  housekeeping, 
Beatrice's  fortune  remained  almost  untouched  in  the 
bank  at  New  York,  where  it  had  been  lodged  by  her 
father,  and  the  accumulated  interest  during  the  five 
years  of  their  marriage,  had  increased  this  little 
capital  considerably.  It  is  true  that,  at  several  dif 
ferent  times,  Beatrice  had,  from  her  own  resources, 
assisted  Hetty  during  the  past  year,  when  in  dis- 
tress, while  Claude  was  in  New  York ;  but  it  was 
but  very  trifling  sums  that  Hetty  could  be  prevailed 
upon  to  accept,  for  it  was  very  galling  to  her, 


CLACJDE'S  FICKLENESS.  305 

remembering  her  sister's  advice  at  the  time  of  her 
marriage,  to  feel  that  she  was  now  in  any  way  de- 
pendent on  her. 

It  seemed,  indeed,  as  though  poor  Hetty's  life 
were  to  be  cloudy  in  its  morning  —  we  can  only 
hope  that  its  noonday  and  eve  will  be  less  shad- 
owy. Claude  had  become  quite  disgusted  with  the 
aspect  of  affairs  at  the  farm.  He  was  too  much  of 
a  fine  gentleman,  and  had  far  too  little  energy,  to 
set  manfully  to  work  and  make  the  best  of  existing 
circumstances.  Difficulties,  which  to  some  minds 
would  have  appeared  mere  trifles,  completely  floored 
him.  He  threatened  to  give  up  the  whole  concern 
altogether,  and  it  was  only  his  father's  advice,  and 
his  wife's  urgent  entreaty,  which  induced  him  to 
hold  on  a  little  longer.  It  was  some  time  after  he 
returned  home,  before  he  would  go  to  Oakwood  to 
Bee  Walter  and  Beatrice — but  we  need  not  say  that 
he  was  kindly  received  —  that  he  was  sure  to  be,  if 
but  for  his  wife's  sake  alone. 

It  was  one  autumn  morning,  or  perhaps,  we  could 
scarcely  have  called  it  autumn  —  it  was  more,  the 
last  sweet  leave-taking  of  summer  —  one  of  those 
lovely  September  days  when,  without  having  lost 
the  freshness  of  summer,  the  landscape  seemed 
almost  unconsciously  and  imperceptibly  to  remind 
one  of  the  coming  fall.  A  light  gray  mist  fating 
over  the  rich  valley,  in  which  lay  Oakwood --the 


306  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

1'arm,  and  Springfield — such  a  mist  as  only  to  pro- 
mise a  bright  and  glorious  noon,  and  serving  but  to 
lend  new  beauties  to  the  scene. 

Tired  as  Claude  was  with  the  minutiae  and  druclg 
ing  of  a  farm  life,  yet  this  lovely  morning  offered 
him  plenty  of  attractions  in  the  sporting  way,  for  he 
was  a  good  shot,  and  there  was  nothing  he  liked 
better  than  to  ramble  over  the  farm  with  his  gun  in 
his  band,  with  his  favorite  dog,  Hector. 

Hetty  was  to  go  over  to  Oakwood,  and  spend  the 
day  with  her  sister;  glad,  indeed,  to  have  this 
opportunity  of  a  quiet  chat  with  her;  and  Claude 
was  to  come  there  to  supper  at  six,  after  his  day's 
sport,  and  take  her  and  little  Yiolet  home. 

Walter  was,  of  course,  at  home;  he  was  too  much 
of  an  invalid  to  walk  about,  and  he  now  spent  a 
great  deal  of  time  in  reading  —  for  Beatrice  was 
necessarily  a  good  deal  occupied  with  the  children, 
and  Clement  was  now  old  enough  to  have  regular 
lessons  every  morning.  Aunt  Louisa  had  returned 
to  New  York  some  time  before,  and  Beatrice  was 
really  sorry  to  part  with  her,  she  had  been  so  kind 
and  useful  during  Walter's  illness  —  but  the  good 
lady  had  peculiar  ideas  about  not  out-staying  her 
welcome,  and  she  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to 
remain  longer. 

Laura  Melville  came  in,  in  the  course  of  the  morn- 
ing, and  as  the  day  was  so  fine  and  warm,  she  and 


THE  ABSENT  SPORTSMAX.  307 

Beatrice,  and  Hetty  took  their  work  and  sat  under 
a  large  tree  in  the  garden,  chatting  merrily  and 
happily  together,  while  the  children  played  on  the 
mossy  lawn  beside  them.  "When  Francis  came 
home  from  school,  at  four  o'clock,  they  all  set  off  for 
a  pleasant  walk  to  Springfield,  to  see  if  Mr.  Melville 
could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  come  back  with  them 
to  supper  at  Oak  wood. 

It  was  about  two  hours  after  this  that  they  were 
again  all  assembled  on  the  lawn,  waiting  for  the 
absent  sportsman.  They  were  to  have  a  substantial 
meal,  a  sort  of  union  of  tea  and  supper,  as  Claude 
had  not  been  home  to  dinner.  Six  o'clock  was  the 
appointed  time  for  meeting,  and  it  was  now  half- 
past,  and  it  was  already  getting  quite  dusk,  for  the 
shortening  days  bespoke  the  coming  fall.  At  last 
they  settled  to  wait  no  longer — that  something  must 
have  delayed  Claude,  and  that  he  would  come  in 
before  they  had  finished ;  he  was  a  very  uncertain 
person  in  his  movements  at  all  times,  so  that  his 
not  being  punctual  caused  them  no  great  uneasiness. 
But  before  seven  o'clock  Hetty  began  to  get  fidgety, 
and  to  go  uneasily  backward  and  forward  from  the 
dining-room  tb  the  hall  door,  to  listen  for  his  foot- 
steps. But  no!  no  sound  disturbed  the  evening  air; 
all  was  still  and  silent  as  death.  Half-past  seven — 
a  quarter  to  eight !  She  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and 
Beatrice  and  her  husband  and  Mr.  Melville,  all  began 
26 


308          GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

to  fee1  anxious  too;  but  they  thought  that  Claude 
must  have  become  too  tired,  or  that  he  had  got  wet 
in  some  swampy  ground  and  gone  home ;  still  it 
was  strange  that  he  sent  no  message  to  Hetty. 

"If  he  does  not  come  before  ten  minutes,"  said 
old  Mr.  Melville,  "  I  shall  start  for  the  farm  myself 
and  see  what  has  become  of  him." 

But  before  ten  minutes  had  elapsed  there  came 
a  loud  ring  at  the  front-door  bell.  The  color  left 
Hetty's  face,  for  she  knew  Claude  would  have  walked 
in  without  ringing.  In  another  moment  Socrates 
came  to  the  door  and  told  Walter  that  some  one 
wished  to  speak  with  him.  Hetty  gave  a  sigh  of 
hope  and  relief,  for  she  thought  that  very  likely  it 
might  be  only  some  one  come  to  Walter  for  medical 
advice. 

When  Walter  Grey  went  out  into  the  hall,  he  saw 
old  Dennis,  the  servant  at  the  farm,  standing  look- 
ing rather  frightened  and  uneasy — but  with  his  finger 
on  his  lips  as  though  to  enjoin  silence. 

"  If  ye  plase,  sir,"  said  he,  in  a  whisper,  "  is  the 
master  here  ?" 

"  No,  indeed,  Dennis ;  we  have  been  expecting 
him  these  two  hours.  He  was  to  have  come  to  take 
Mrs.  Melville  home  after  he  had  done  shooting." 

"  Faith  and  then,  yer  honor,  I'm  afeard  intirely 
there's  something  amiss.  About  an  hour  ago— just 
at  dusk — Hector  came  home,  looking  quite  oneasy 


THE  ABSENT  SPORTSMAN.  309 

like*  and  he  would  not  go  into  his  kennel  for  a  long 
time,  but  lay  down  and  howled  and  howled,  and 
seemed  as  if  he  wanted  us  to  foiled  him  somewheres, 
the  crathur !  Me  and  the  t'others  was  quite  scared 
intirely,  and  I  thought  may-be  I'd  better  come  over 
here  and  see  if  the  master  was  here  or  no." 

Walter  listened  breathlessly  to  Dennis'  words. 
Something  surely  must  have  happened  to  Claude  or 
the  dog  would  not  have  gone  home  alone.  He 
scarcely  knew  what  to  do ;  but  he  at  last  put  his 
head  in  at  the  dining-room  door  and  called  old  Mr. 
Melville  out,  that  he  might  consult  with  him. 

Hetty's  fears  were  now  thoroughly  aroused.  What 
could  Walter  want  with  her  father-in-law  unless 
something  were  the  matter  with  Claude  ?  Quick  as 
thought  she  rushed  into  the  hall,  and  seizing  Wal- 
ter's arm,  she  said : 

"  Oh  !  Walter,  Walter !  for  heaven's  sake  tell  me 
what's  the  matter  I  Has  Dennis  brought  any  news 
of  Claude  ?" 

"No,  indeed,  ma'am,"  said  the  old  man;  "only 
Hector's  come  home,  and  I  thought  may-be  the 
master  might  ha'  got  into  some  fix  somewheres 
on  the  farm;  anyhow  we  had  best  go  and  see,  I 
take  it." 

Hetty  gave  a  suppressed  scream,  and  turned 
deadly  pale.  "  Yes,  yes,"  she  gasped,  "  we  will  go 

and  look  for  him." 
20 


S10  QEEATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

"My  dear  child,"  said  old  Mr.  Melville,  tenderly, 
"yon  cannot  possibly  come  with  us;  see  how  dark 
the  night  is,  and  we  may  have  miles  to  walk.  Con- 
trol yourself  and  stay  with  Beatrice.  Do,  for  your 
child's  sake.  God  help  you  and  comfort  you.  Come, 
"Walter,  let's  be  off— I'm  ready ;  but  dear  me,  how 
are  you  to  walk  ?  you  are  too  weak  to  go  far." 

"  The  horse  will  be  saddled  in  a  minute — I  must 
go,"  replied  Walter.  "  Tell  Socrates  to  come  too, 
Dennis,  and  to  bring  a  lantern  with  him.  By-the- 
by,  did  you  hear  your  master  say,  this  morning,  what 
part  of  the  farm  he  was  going  to  shoot  over  ?" 

"  Never  a  one  o'  me  knows  nothing  at  all  about 
it,  sir,  except  that  when  he  started  he  set  off  on  the 
road  toward  Beechwood,  right  a'  top  o'  the  hill." 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  farm  and  fetch  Hector  first," 
said  old  Mr.  Melville ;  "  he  will  be  sure  to  lead  us 
in  the  right  way  to  where  he  left  his  master — a  dog's 
sagacity  can  always  be  trusted  in  these  matters." 

They  accordingly  set  off —  "Walter  riding  slowly 
on  horseback,  while  the  others  walked  by  his  side. 
As  they  neared  the  farm,  they  could  hear  the  long, 
deep,  melancholy  howl  of  Hector,  filling  the  night- 
air  with  its  mournful  sounds. 

"Ah  1  sirs,"  said  old  Dennis,  sighing;  " sure  an' 
when  a  dog  howls  like  o'  that,  there  '11  be  a  death 
in  the  family.  I  always  heerd  that  ever  since  I  was 
a  little  spalpeen  o'  a  boy." 


HECTOR'S  SAGACITY.  311 

Walter  and  Mr.  Melville  answered  not.  They 
were,  themselves,  filled  with  gloomy  forebodings  — 
and  little  as  they  might,  in  a  calmer  hour,  give 
credence  to  old  Dennis'  superstition,  yet  sertain  it  is 
that  the  dismal  sounds  increased  the  vague  terror 
of  impending  evil  which  filled  their  minds. 

To  unloose  Hector  was  but  the  work  of  a  moment, 
and  the  faithful  animal  seemed  as  though  he  under- 
stood wherefore  they  had  fetched  him,  for  with  a 
low,  sharp  whine,  he  seized  the  skirt  of  Mr.  Mel- 
ville's coat,  then  walked  off  in  a  northerly  direction, 
then  returned,  and  again  seizing  the  coat,  he  seemed, 
by  these  mute  gestures,  to  invite  them  to  follow 
him. 

Straight  on,  in  a  north-easterly  direction,  quite 
away  from  both  Oak  wood  and  Springfield,  did  Hec- 
tor pursue  the  track  of  his  master's  footsteps.  Oh ! 
how  gloomy  and  melancholy  it  was !  It  was  not  a 
cold  night,  but  the  wind  had  changed,  and  it  now 
came  sighing  and  breathing  mournfully  through  the 
tall  trees,  while  a  few  drops  of  rain  falling  now  and 
again,  threatened  a  shower. 

It  was  dark,  too,  for  the  heavens  had  become 
overspread  with  clouds,  and  it  was  with  difficulty 
that  Hector's  spotted  black  and  white  form  could  bo 
descried  as  he  ran  on  before  them  —  only  stopping 
ever  and  anon  to  see  if  they  were  following.  On, 
on,  on,  for  nearly  two  miles,  did  they  walk  in  gloomy 


312  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

silence,  hoping  every  moment  that  the  dog  would 
stop,  and  yet  having  an  almost  undefined  dread  of 
his  doing  so,  lest  their  worst  fears  should  be  real- 
ized. 

It  was  in  a  quiet,  shady  glen,  underneath  a  large 
tree,  that  Hector  suddenly  stopped  short,  and  after 
smelling  around  him,  he  gave  one  long,  piercing 
howl,  and  crouched  down  on  the  ground  beside  some 
object  which  lay  there. 

Walter  dismounted  in  an  instant,  and  seizing  the 
lantern  from  Socrates,  he  hurriedly  approached  the 
spot.  Oh !  what  a  sight  met  his  eye ;  it  blanched 
his  cheek  with  terror,  and  made  his  hand  tremble  as 
he  gazed.  There  lay  poor  Claude,  cold  and  dead, 
with  his  gun  by  his  side,  and  a  fearful  wound  in 
bis  head. 

Mr.  Melville  gave  a  cry  of  horror  and  agony,  and 
threw  himself  on  his  knees  beside  the  corpse,  ex- 
claiming : 

"Oh !  my  son,  my  son !" 

"  Oh !  Hetty,  poor,  poor  girl !  How  will  she  bear 
this  ?"  groaned  Walter. 

At  that  moment  a  flash  of  lightning  shot  through 
the  branches  of  the  trees,  and  illumined,  for  an  in- 
stant, the  face  of  the  dead. 

His  ramrod  lay  by  his  side,  and  it  was  evident 
from  the  position  in  which  he  was  found,  and  from 
the  direction  the  shot  had  taken,  shattering  his  jaw, 


CLAUDE'S  DEATH.  313 

and  going  upward  to  the  temple,  that  it  was  ID 
charging  his  gun,  while  one  barrel  was  loaded,  that 
the  accident  had  occurred. 

Walter  was  too  weak  to  be  able  to  assist  in  carry- 
ing poor  Claude's  remains,  and  Socrates  and  Dennis 
were  both  old  men  and  feeble,  so  he  resolved  to  ride 
on  to  a  cottage,  distant  only  about  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  from  the  spot,  and  endeavor  to  procure  help. 

It  was  not  very  long  before  he  returned  with  two 
men,  who  had  taken  a  door  off  its  hinges  and  kindly 
volunteered  to  carry  the  body. 

Gloomily  and  sadly  that  little  procession  wended 
its  way  to  the  farm. 

The  poor  father  walked  last,  his  head  bowed 
down  with  grief,  and  his  arms  folded,  heedless  of 
the  rain  which  now  pelted  pitilessly  against  them ; 
and,  indeed,  of  aught  save  the  lifeless  form  of  his 
once  handsome  boy.  The  light  of  a  candle  was 
seen  in  the  kitchen  window  as  they  approached  the 
house,  for  the  two  women-servants,  Susan  and  old 
Jane,  were  sitting  up  in  a  state  of  great  fear  and 
alarm,  awaiting  the  return  of  some  members  of  the 
household. 

Walter  rode  on  to  prepare  them  for  what  was 
coming.  Susan  screamed  and  fainted,  but  Jane, 
although  trembling  in  every  limb,  yet  retained  suf- 
ficient command  of  herself  to  go  along  the  passage 
to  the  front-door  with  Walter,  and  then  light  the 


314:  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

men  up-stairs,  where  they  deposited  poor  Claude's 
lifeless  form  on  the  bed. 

Ah !  little  did  poor  Hetty  think,  when  she  rose 
that  morning,  what  it  was  that  would  that  night  be 
laid  there,  so  cold,  and  stiff,  and  inanimate. 

Leaving  old  Dennis  at  the  farm,  and  bidding  old 
Jane  do  what  was  necessary  toward  washing  and 
dressing  the  corpse,  Walter  and  Mr.  Melville  pro- 
ceeded toward  Oakwood,  endeavoring  to  think  how 
they  might  best  break  the  news  to  the  poor  young 
wife. 

Such  grief  as  this  is  too  deep,  too  tender,  and 
sacred  to  be  described.  What  such  a  loss  must  be, 
coming  so  suddenly  and  unexpectedly,  can  better  bo 
imagined  than  recorded.  Poor  Hetty !  it  was,  in- 
deed, a  blow  —  sharp  and  lacerating  to  her  tender 
heart. 

She  went  over  to  the  farm  with  Walter,  in  the 
buggy  next  morning,  at  her  own  request,  that  she 
might  gaze  once  more  on  the  face  of  him  who  had 
been  so  dear,  and  then  returned  to  Oakwood,  that 
she  might  be  with  her  sister  —  and  it  was  many, 
many  days  before  she  could  trust  herself  to  re-enter 
the  walls  of  her  old  home  again,  where  everything 
BO  painfully  reminded  her  of  her  loss. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

Farewell  1  and  may  friendship,  affection  and  love, 
Surround  thee  through  life  with  their  holiest  flowers; 

And  the  peace  that  can  only  descend  from  above, 
Shed  its  sunshine  around  thec,  and  hallow  thy  hours ! 

I  ODK  years  Lave  again  rolled  away !  and  when 
we  turn  to  look  at  our  friends  we  shall  see  that  with 
them  time  has  also  wrought  its  accustomed  changes. 

In  the  rooms  of  the  house  at  Oakwood  fresh  faces 
were  seen,  for  Walter  Grey  and  his  family  had  long 
since  left,  and  were  now  all  residing  at  Mow  Farm. 

The  long  sickness  which  ensued  after  Walter  wa8 
wounded  in  New  York,  had  determined  him  on 
retiring  from  the  more  active  duties  of  his  profes- 
sion, and  living  a  quiet  life  in  the  country.  Just  at 
this  time,  as  we  have  seen,  came  poor  Claude  Mel- 
ville's sad  death,  and  as  his  young  widow  was  not 
able  to  undertake  the  management  of  the  farm, 
even  if  she  had  had  the  means  to  do  so,  Walter  and 
Beatrice  resolved  on  taking  it  off  her  hfnds,  and 
accordingly  purchased  the  place  within  three  or  four 
months  of  the  time  of  the  accident. 

Laura  Melville  was  married  a  few  days  before  they 
27  (315) 


31 C  GEEATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

removed,  and  poor  Hetty,  with  her  little  daughter, 
went  to  live  with  her  father-in-law,  at  his  own 
urgent  request. 

At  the  time  we  are  now  speaking  of,  little  Yiolet 
had  grown  into  a  lovely  child  of  three  years  eld ; 
and  she  might  often  be  seen  wandering  about  the 
garden  and  meadows  of  Springfield  for  hours  to- 
gether, with  her  grandfather,  to  whom  she  was  de- 
votedly attached — for  what  would  not  dear  grand- 
papa, kind  grandpapa  do  for  her?  Ah!  anything 
indeed:  for  the  old  man  seemed  almost  to  worship 
the  ground  his  sweet  blue-eyed  Yiolet  trod  on. 

Time  had  somewhat  softened  the  intensity  of 
Iletty's  grief,  and  though  her  wild  exuberance  of 
spirits  was  gone  forever,  she  was  calm  and  cheerful. 
She  was  always  busy,  too.  She  had  her  little 
daughter's  education  to  attend  to,  and  she  superin- 
tended all  Mr.  Melville's  domestic  arrangements, 
presiding  at  Springfield  as  mistress  of  the  house. 
Then  she  was  her  father-in-law's  constant  compan- 
ion during  his  leisure  hours — playing  and  reading 
to  him,  walking  with  him,  and  endeavoring,  in 
every  possible  way,  to  render  him  as  happy  as  she 
could. 

Yery  often  they  had  friends  staying  with  them  — 
Laura  and  her  husband  generally  came  down  two 
or  three  times  in  the  year ;  and  William  Melville, 
who  had  been  married  some  two  years  before,  was 


TIME'S  CHANGES.  317 

never  long  without  paying  them  a  visit.  Aunt 
Louisa,  too,  always  came  in  the  summer,  and  spent 
a  month  with  each  of  her  nieces,  so  that  Hetty  and 
Mr.  Melville  were  never  long  by  themselves. 

It  was  so  pleasant,  too,  for  Hetty  to  have  her  sis- 
ter living  so  near.  To  go  to  Mow  Farm  was  always 
a  pleasant  walk  for  herself  and  Yiolet,  and  she  knew 
that  in  Beatrice  she  had  a  friend  in  whom  she  could 
always  confide,  and  to  whom  she  could  look  up  for 
counsel  and  advice. 

Now,  however,  Walter  and  Beatrice  were  not 
alone,  for  they  were  entertaining,  at  their  house, 
some  very  old  friends — friends  whom  we  have  not 
seen  for  many  years.  They  consisted  of  a  young 
minister  and  his  wife,  an'd  a  widow  lady  in  very 
delicate  health. 

Let  us  look  back  awhile  into  the  past.  Madame 
de  Tremonille's  expectations  and  hopes  with  regard 
to  her  dear  child,  Blanche,  had  ere  this  been  real- 
ized, and  about  two  months  before  the  time  we  are 
speaking  of,  she  had  seen  her  united  to  Mr.  Camp- 
bell. It  was  as  good  a  match,  in  every  way,  as  she 
could  have  desired,  for  they  seemed  indeed  thor- 
oughly suited  to  each  other,  and  to  be  such  as  would 
go  heart  and  hand  together  through  life's  journey. 

Madame  de  Tremonille  had  been  the  more  anx- 
ious for  this  union  to  take  place  in  consequence  of 
her  own  declining  health  :  for  how  could  she  bear 


SI  8  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

to  leave  her  dear  child  without  a  protector  ?  Her 
own  estate  of  Palm  Hill  she  had  already  bequeathed 
to  her,  and  it  was  agreed  that,  even  should  her  life 
be  spared,  Blanche  and  her  husband  should  live 
with  her,  and  make  it  their  home. 

The  heat  of  the  climate  had  gradually  under- 
mined her  English  constitution,  and  the  physicians 
imperatively  ordering  a  colder  climate,  she  was  in- 
duced to  accept  her  friend  Beatrice  Grey's  oft-re- 
peated invitation,  and  come  to  pass  a  few  months 
with  her  in  America.  Hither  she  had  been  accom- 
panied by  Mr.  Campbell  and  Blanche,  for  they  were 
unwilling  for  her  to  travel  so  long  a  distance  alone, 
and  in  so  precarious  a  state  of  health.  Beside,  Mr. 
Campbell  had  previously  arranged  with  a  brother 
minister  to  take  his  place  for  a  few  weeks,  that  he 
and  Blanche  might  be  able  to  take  a  little  trip  after 
their  marriage,  so  that  it  was  no  inconvenience  for 
him  to  leave  his  charge. 

Here,  then,  we  find  them  all  at  Mow  Farm,  walk- 
ing up  and  down  the  garden  with  Beatrice  and 
"Walter.  Oh !  what  a  long  time  it  seemed  since  they 
had  met — nine  years  ! !  "What  changes  had  taken 
place !  and  how  many,  many  events  had  occurred  J 
Madame  de  Tremonille  was  delighted  to  see  Bea- 
trice again,  and  she  could  never  sufficiently  ad- 
mire her  lovely  children,  of  whom  there  were  now 
four. 


TIME'S  CHANGES.  319 

Both  Beatrice  and  Hetty  said  they  should  not  have 
recognized  Blanche  at  all ;  they  had  seen  her  last  a 
little  sliin  child  of  ten  years,  and  now  she  appeared 
before  them  a  young  woman,  with  a  tall,  graceful 
figure,  and  a  brilliant  brunette  complexion,  retain- 
ing something  in  both  her  countenance  and  bearing 
which  bespoke  her  French  origin.  But  though  they 
said  they  should  not  have  known  her,  yet  they  felt 
that  she  was  all  that  her  fond  adopted  mother  had 
so  frequently  described  in  her  letters.  There  was 
something  about  Blanche  which  plainly  bespoke  a 
cultivated  and  superior  intellect,  while  there  was 
also  a  gentle  calmness  and  softness  of  manner  that 
suited  well  the  Christian  wife  of  a  Christian  min- 
ister. 

Seated  on  a  low  seat,  at  the  far  end  of  the  garden, 
might  be  seen  an  elderly  mulatto-woman  who  had 
accompanied  Madame  de  Tremonille  from  St.  Tho- 
mas as  her  attendant,  in  consequence  of  her  weak 
state  of  health.  This  was  our  old  friend,  widow 
Moore.  Although  the  past  nine  years  had  added 
somewhat  of  a  stoop  to  her  form  and  rendered  her 
step  less  alert,  yet  the  light  of  her  Christian  charac- 
ter, that  light  which  if  duly  trimmed  at  the  altar, 
can  never  grow  dim,  burned  yet  brighter  and  clearer. 

She  was  now  surrounded  by  a  group  of  merry 
children,  who  were  listening  with  breathless  delight, 
to  her  tales  about  her  tropical  home.  Foremost 


320  GBEATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

among  this  group  of  children  might  be  seen  a  tall, 
thoughtful-looking  boy,  of  apparently  about  fourteen 
years  of  age.  To  him  the  others  seemed  to  look  up 
as  their  counselor-general,  watching  his  counten- 
ance to  see  if  he  weret  listening,  or  perhaps  if  the 
good  widow  were  reciting  something  beyond  their 
youthful  comprehension,  they  would  gaze  at  Francis 
to  see  whether  they  were  expected  to  laugh  or  cry. 

It  was  not  long  that  Blanche  and  Mr.  Campbell 
could  stay  with  their  American  friends,  for  the  latter 
was  impatient  to  return  to  the  scene  of  his  labors ; 
but  it  was  agreed  that  Madame  de  Tremonille  should 
remain  at  Mow  Farm  for  several  months,  all  hoping 
that  the  change  of  air  might  restore  her  to  her  ac- 
customed health. 

To  perfect  health  it  certainly  did  not  restore  her ; 
but  by  the  following  summer  she  was  so  much  better 
that  she  and  her  faithful  attendant  once  more  set  off 
for  St.  Thomas.  There,  after  two  years  more  of  al- 
ternate sickness  and  health — two  years  more  of  gen- 
tle love  and  Christian  usefulness — she  passed  away 
to  that  rest  "  which  remaineth  for  the  people  of 
God." 

Her  remains  repose  in  the  little  church-yard  near 
those  of  Beatrice's  father;  and  truly  and  deeply 
was  she  lamented,  not  only  by  Blanche  and  her  hus- 
band, but  by  the  numerous  friends  and  dependents 
&he  left  in  the  island — "Blessed  are  the  dead  which 


CONCLUSION.  321 

die  in  tho  Lord;  yea,  saith  the  Spirit,  for  they 
rest  from  their  labors,  and  their  works  do  follow 
them." 

Blanche  and  Mr.  Campbell  now  reside  at  Palm 
Hill,  pursuing  actively  the  duties  of  their  calling  as 
laborers  in  the  vineyard  of  their  Lord.  And  here 
we  shall  leave  them,  only  trusting  that  when  they 
too  shall  have  finished  the  work  their  Master  has  for 
them  to  do,  they  may  meet  around  that  throne  of 
the  Lamb  all  those  dear  friends,  from  whom,  as  we 
see,  death  had  been  permitted  to  separate  them. 
And  now,  too,  as  even  the  "  best  friends  must 
part,"  we  shall  say  farewell  to  our  friend  Beatrice 
Grey. 

We  leave  her  happy  in  the  quiet  duties  of  domes- 
tic life,  training  her  little  ones  up  in  the  service  and 
love  of  God,  and  being,  as  she  always  has  been,  her 
husband's  daily  joy,  and  dearest  earthly  friend.  Her 
path  of  life  was  not  uncheckered  by  trials ;  but 
there  were  always  so  many  sweet  violets  growing 
by  the  way-side,  that  it  was  not  other  than  a  happy 
one. 

In  her  children  she  was  abundantly  rewarded,  and 
in  none  more  so  than  in  her  adopted  son,  Francis, 
who  lived  to  be,  as  had  always  been  the  dearest 
wish  of  his  heart,  an  eminent  and  devoted  minister  of 
the  Gospel.  And  by  the  tender  love,  and  unceasing, 


322  GREATNESS  IN  LITTLE  THINGS. 

dutiful  respect  he  showed  for  "Walter  and  Beatrice 
when  a  boy,  as  well  as  by  his  future  career,  so  pecu- 
liarly blessed  and  honored,  the  truth  of  that  word 
was  abundantly  proved  to  them — "  Cast  thy  bread 
upon  tae  waters,  and  thou  ehalt  find  it  after  many 
iays." 


THE     END 


saHf 


I 


E 


i  U  ! 


